


Roar

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU — Roaring 20s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Canon Torture Scene — Hermione’s POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Dating, Flappers, Forced Partnership, Gangsters, Humor, Romance, Time Travel, Time period appropriate sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Fresh from her torture by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, Hermione suddenly finds herself in 1920s America with James Potter. When they’re given a mission to save the world, neither of them realize how their actions will change the future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> Welp. LadyKenz347 played a fun prompt game and so this story is a result: James/Hermione, Roaring 20s AU. The prompt was supposed to inspire a drabble... so, of course this is planned as a 5 part piece instead. Haha. 
> 
> I’m having a lot of fun writing it and owe alllll of my thanks to the wonderful, amazing, encouraging, brilliant mcal for her alpha reading and encouragement as I developed this from a tiny idea into a bigger one. Thank you, love! <3

She was on fire. From the tips of her toes to the crackling frizz of hair on her head. The heat consumed her, swallowed her whole, and digested her as if she were doused in kerosene. She was suffocating, ash and glass coated her throat as she cried out for mercy in ragged, gasping breaths.

Somewhere in the distance, Ron screamed her name. She was glad for it, because she could hardly remember what it was. For ten minutes straight, she was ‘Mudblood’ and ‘Filth’.

Not Granger or Hermione or Mione.

Mudblood. Filth. Dirty. Disgusting. Tainted.

She cried, a screech through tired windpipes as something carved into her arm. She couldn’t concentrate on what it was, but it felt poisonous, acidic, the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. A flurry of dark, manic curls hung over her face and the smile on her face was wicked, vile. Bellatrix Lestrange licked her teeth and cackled as she pressed the cursed blade further into Hermione’s arm.

She begged for it to nick an artery. God, please let her bleed out and take the pain away. Her legs kicked and head twisted back and forth with wild pleas on her tongue. Stop, please, please, stop.

But it continued. On and on until she thought she’d faint from the pain. It traveled up her nerves, curled around her shoulder. Her heart hammered, slammed so hard against her sternum that she was sure it would blow a hole through her bones.

She yelled as the blade moved up her arm. The droplets of blood running down her skin tickled in a way that agitated more than amused. Hermione wanted to die, she wanted it to end, she begged for it to be done.

And finally— _finally_ Bellatrix sat up, straddling her hips to pin her in place, and laughed merrily at her family to point out what she’d done.

Hermione cried. Tear tracks rolled down her dirt-coated face. The salt stung the place on her tongue she’d bit so hard she nearly drew blood. Still, she lifted her head. Her neck felt kinked, her skull heavy as it moved from the oak floors and stared down at her mangled arm.

_Mudblood._

It stared her in the face. Bloody. Dirty. Cursed.

Her head slammed back into the wood and her world went black.

When she came to, Malfoy Manor’s drawing room floor no longer stretched beneath her. Instead, she sat upright at a wooden table in a dimly lit room with strange music playing faintly. The scent of whisky on the air burned her nose.

Her breath still came in gasps and she twitched on the creaky chair. Her eyes darted to her bare forearm where she saw the heinous word glaring back at her. Blood oozed from the wound. It stung down to her bone. Tears continued to fall from her eyes. Labeled forever, she assumed, a Mudblood.

The room she woke up in wasn’t familiar. It was too old, too dingy to be Malfoy Manor. Perhaps they moved her somewhere more fitting for her status. She wondered if Voldemort would come for her now or if he’d send another death eater to finish her off. She thought of Harry and Ron, of letting them down. Her heart clenched harder and harder until she grabbed at her chest and silently begged for an end.

A man appeared in front of her out of thin air. Just popped into existence without any preamble. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a Head Boy badge, and his hair fell in chaotic fringe over his forehead. He didn’t seem to notice her as he patted his body and whispered furiously to himself.

“E-excuse me?” Hermione’s voice cracked on every syllable. Her raw, bloody throat tightened as she tried to force the words out.

He looked up and she gasped, wincing around the sound. It wasn’t Harry — the eyes weren’t right. No, she knew this person from photographs and memories. 

James Potter grinned at her from across the table.

“Oh, hello!” He waved his hand and glanced around. “You don’t happen to know, er, where I am, do you?”

Hermione shook her head and swiped at her eyes. She felt the dirt push around her skin and dropped her gaze to the table, ashamed. Her hand covered the derogatory mark on her arm.

“Are you alright?” He seemed genuinely concerned, the timber of his voice dropping as he stood from the chair and walked to her.

What was he doing here and where were they? Was she out of her mind? Did it finally betray her? Or was she dead, and granted the release she longed for before she passed out? Hermione swallowed around a thick knot in her throat and tried not to cry more.

His hand rested on her shoulder and his face ducked down so that she was forced to look at him. She flinched away. “Hey— hey, it’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

“Please don’t touch me.” The words squeezed through her ground teeth.

James removed his hand from her gently. He crouched down in front of her. His smile was nice, she thought, but she didn’t much feel like smiling then. Instead, she stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“So, did you just show up here, too?” His eyes flickered across her face and her hair, down her old jumper, and finally where her hand was curled protectively over the cuts on her arm. She flinched and he brought his gaze back to hers.

“Yes. I— I think I fainted and then I woke up here.” She licked her lips, but there was no relief from how parched they were from yelling for so long. “Am I dead?”

“What?” James looked alarmed and stood up straight. His body whipped around and he thrummed with nervous energy as he took in their surroundings. She could feel it as easily as she could feel her own anxiety dancing along her spine. “Better not be. I was having a whale of time and if this moldy old pub is my afterlife, I’m going to ask for a transfer.”

“I just — I don’t know why you’d be here with me if I’m not—not—” Her body shook. Shock, she thought as she gripped onto any part of her she could reach and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Magic?” She felt him pull his chair close but she refused to open her eyes to look at him. “I mean, I was minding my own business and enjoying Christmas hols, and then suddenly — a wall of whisky.”

“Christmas?” The word escaped despite the ache in her lungs.

It wasn’t Christmas. That was ages ago, before the locket, before Ron, before the snatchers. Hermione’s breathing increased, rapid breaths shooting from between her lips faster than she could control. Her shoulders heaved under the weight of it. All the color drained from her face.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down.” James patted her on the shoulder, but she scooted her chair back violently and jumped from it.

“Telling someone to calm down _doesn’t_ make them _calm down_.” The words tore from her and they hurt but she was furious and panicking and afraid.

He stood, too, and towered over her. “I’m sorry. Merlin— shit; you _are_ a witch, right?”

Her eyes darted to her uncovered arm and she winced. His gaze followed and before she could stop him, James grabbed her wrist and pulled her marred flesh to his eyes to inspect it. He blanched.

“What happened to you?” He demanded an answer, but his tone was soft. He stepped into her space just a little bit more and gently let his thumb roll over the angry skin just shy of the marks. “This is— who did this to you?”

Tears sprang to her eyes again. “It’s — it’s nothing. Just a s-scratch, okay?”

“Bollocks, it is.” His wand appeared from nowhere and he pointed it at the word carved into her arm. She flinched, but allowed him to clean the dried blood from her skin. “What happened?”

Her throat constricted and it was like broken glass sliding down her esophagus. Hands trembled as she tried to get the words out. “Bellatrix Lestrange, she — snatchers got us and she tortured— oh, God, I can’t—”

Hermione dissolved into a mess and fell forward into James’ chest. She cried, mumbling her story to him against his cotton shirt. He held her tight against him and awkwardly patted her on the back. He whispered against the top of her head that she’d be okay, that he had her now and he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again.

* * *

James was certain some shenanigans were afoot. His first clue was that one second, he was prancing as a stag in a Christmas jumper in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and the next second he was in human form in a dive worse than The Hog’s Head. Hogwarts forgotten.

Now, as he held onto a clearly traumatized witch, it was clear that something was amiss. Her clothing was odd, even by wizarding standards, and she referred to Bellatrix Lestrange by name. Everyone knew she wasn’t married yet; though James was stunned to discover someone wanted to marry that lunatic at all.

He wasn’t used to having pretty, damaged witches crying on him. Hell, if it was Lily, he wouldn’t be complaining. So, he kept a tight hold on her and let her cry until her noises turned into little whimpers and finally filled the space around them with strained breathing.

When she pushed him away, he let her. He even tucked some of her frizzy curls behind her ears so that they’d stop getting stuck in the tears on her face. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not from 1975.” 

Ah, that got her. Her startled brown eyes locked into his.

“No.” She fingered her lip and tore at some of the chapped skin there. “1998, actually.”

“Ninety — blimey.” James ran a hand through his hair, a habit he’d cultivated over his previous six years at school. “And, er, do we know one another? James Potter. Head Boy. Best Chaser in a Century?”

It was the first smile she cracked since they found one another in the pub. She shook her head. “We’ve never been in the same room with one another.”

“But you _have_ heard of me?” His broad grin came natural and her rolling eyes encouraged it to grow. “Wicked. I always knew I’d be famous among the ladies in the future.”

She opened her mouth and for a moment, he hung on the excitement that coursed through him. He lived for seeing a girl lift her lips in a smile for him and it was coming in three, two, one —

A resounding _pop_ filled the room around them. Both James and his lady from the future turned on the spot with their wands drawn.

A man in a teal waistcoat and matching fedora waved his wand and the room fell silent around them. “Hello,” the man said with a heavy American accent, “I’m very sorry for the disruption, but there’s a lot to do and we haven’t much time.”

“Who’re you?” James jabbed his wand forward.

Damsels in distress from the future. Dingy little pubs that reeked of booze. Random strangely dressed wizard with a cryptic message? It had to be Sirius fucking with him. It _had_ to be. James felt the girl at his side bristle, watched her fingers close tighter around her wand.

“Leonard Twelvetrees.” The man tipped his hat. “We can do introductions later, Mister Potter, Miss Granger. There’s adventure afoot!”

Granger. He hadn’t thought to get her name. Their eyes met and he raised a brow, a silent question. He didn’t know if they shared a silent language yet, but it was worth the effort anyway. He was rewarded when she tipped her chin; yes, they’d follow this strange fellow who seemed to know who they were.

“Alright, Mister Twelvetrees, crikey that’s a long name. We'll call you Leonard, if that’s alright?” The man nodded and took a seat at the table. “What exactly do you want with us? Where are we?”

“Are you related to Dorcas Twelvetrees?” They were the first words Granger spoke that didn’t sound as if they were being torn from her. He felt elated that he’d calmed her down enough. 

Good show, James.

The man deflated from his sparkling demeanor and leveled her with a serious glare that James didn’t like one bit. “She was my great-great grandmother on my mother’s side, yes.”

“Who’s Dorcas Twelvetrees?” James flung his gaze between the two, but Granger merely stared down the other wizard with fire in her eyes.

When Leonard didn’t answer, she aired his laundry for him. “She’s an American that broke the International Statute of Secrecy. She’s the reason we have so many restrictions on magic in front of Muggles.”

“Muggles?” Leonard asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“People without magic,” James supplied helpfully, happy to contribute something.

“Ah, No-Maj. Right, she did do that, yes.” Leonard’s lips pulled down in a frown, but flashed back to a straight line quickly. “This has nothing to do with that. There’s something else—”

“Are we in America, then?” Granger’s brows drew together and James chuckled. She reminded him of a witch he knew, another fiery know-it-all.

“You are.” Leonard, though his tone bordered on impatient, allowed her a small smile.

“When in America are we?” She lifted a brow then, and James could tell she felt very proud of herself for earning a tired sigh from the older man.

James sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He scratched at his chin — he hadn’t thought to ask that question, but if he was from 1975 and she was from 1998, it stood to reason that they were misplaced in time. This was precisely the reason that he kept Remus around. He would have thought to ask these questions. And he would have brought chocolate.

“1925.” Leonard steepled his fingers and rested his chin on top of them. “Anything else?”

“How are we here?”

James studied the stiff set of her shoulders and the swollen puff of lips she held in a straight line. She kept her eyes forward, but he wished she’d look and see the proud smile he flashed at her. She was smart, certainly; he wondered if she were a Ravenclaw.

“Some advanced charms work and a whole lot of luck,” Leonard said heavily and then flattened his hands on the table. “Listen, kids, it took me years to figure out how to get you here. We don’t have a lot of time. There is darkness headed to this city and I need your help.”

“Okay!” James clapped his hands together, but his moment of excitement died on his tongue.

“What darkness? 1925? That’s pre-Grindelwald, isn’t it?” Granger continued to push the bloke; she was a no funny-business type of gal, he decided. “You know, meddling with time is dangerous, Mister Twelvetrees, and you’ve taken me out of a very important time. My friends need me and—”

“Important!” James turned to her, horrified. “You’ve been carved into like a jack-o-lantern!”

The stricken expression on her face was his first clue that he’d fucked up. The second was when she stuck her heel so hard onto his foot that he shouted ‘ow’ and scooted his chair away from her.

“I understand you both have your lives.” He sounded sympathetic enough to James. “And I will return you to where you came from, the _very_ second, I swear it.”

“The very second?” Her voice, so strong before, died in her throat. 

James reached out and held her hand as if he’d been her friend for years. “We’ll figure it out, Granger, I promise.”

Leonard’s gaze danced between them and James shook his head at the older man to dissuade him from prying.

“What do you need from us, then?” James asked and tried not to wince as Granger squeezed his hand tightly.

Leonard leaned in, his brown eyes sparkling under the shadow of his fedora. His bushy, dark eyebrows raised into his hairline and a smile wrinkled his face. “What do you know of prohibition?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to mcal for alpha reading and talking me down from ledges and being SUCH a wonderful star! <3

If someone had told Hermione that in the middle of war, she’d be popped to an entirely different time period in order to stop the beginning of an entirely different war, she’d have called St. Mungo’s to have their head examined.

As such, it was difficult to get used to her current situation. She wore a low cut, high rise beaded dress, with pearls loose around her neck. Her hair was pinned up so that it looked like short ringlets around the base of her skull. She toted a circular black tray with illegal drinks rested atop it. And, she tried desperately not to curse the men who thought it was okay to catcall her and make lude remarks as she dropped off their alcohol.

Working for Frankie “Tommy Gun” Barebone wasn’t nearly as bad as her initial thoughts. When Leonard told them he needed her and James to infiltrate the gangster’s inner circle, she laughed. She was about as much a gangster as James was a flapper. And when she said as much, Leonard’s eyes sparkled.

It had been two days since she waltzed into The Bare Bones and flaunted the little sex appeal she had to get a job. Evidently, her exotic accent was a commodity. The owner’s manager made a comment on her chest, not quite big enough, and her arse, just dandy, and then handed her an apron and told her to get to serving.

James, on the other hand, was pummeled to the ground to prove he was “man enough” to earn a spot in Frankie’s ranks. Honestly, she thought she got the better end of the deal.

They posed as a couple, fresh off the boat from some immigration programme, and appeared desperate for work in the land of opportunities. They bought it easily, just as Leonard said they would.

“Hey, doll!” a woman Hermione had come to know as Ethel called from the bar. “The guys over at table six want some of the good stuff. Come here and I’ll show ya where we keep it.”

Hermione set down the three glasses she’d carried to another table and forced a smile as one of the men commented on her figure. She followed Ethel around the back of the bar and listened as she droned on and on about the various liquors they stocked.

She hadn’t had much time to process everything that happened, not really. She and James were given accommodations in a small wizard community; they each had a small room with small beds and small wardrobes to alter with their magic each day. Everything moved so fast that she didn’t get a chance to drown in her feelings; somewhere in the future her friends were facing Voldemort. She should be there, she should be fighting. But Leonard promised she could return to the exact moment she left.

That thought made her stomach roil. She found she could glamour the  _ Mudblood _ scar on her arm. It was still angry and red, but when she couldn’t see it, it bothered her less. Compartmentalize, that’s what she had to do.

“Honey, you listening?” Ethel snapped her fingers in front of Hermione’s face. “Hey! Did you see where I stow the glasses when the coppers come?”

“Yes, sorry,” Hermione shook her head and apologized. She’d figure it out; she always did. “Table six wants the good stuff, yeah?”

Ethel smiled. “Hey, you really do catch on quick.”

Hermione forced herself to accept the compliment and lifted her lips in a fake smile. She walked away from Ethel, who she thought might have two brain cells tops, and grabbed the bottle of bootlegged whisky from the little shelf where Ethel hid it.

When she turned the corner, James stood with his hands in his pockets waiting for her. His smile was wide, his hair fell in a coif on his forehead, and he was decked out in period attire that Hermione tried hard not to notice suited him nicely. Silver waistcoat over a black button up, gray trousers, black shoes. His solid body cleaned up nice.

Not that she was paying it any attention, of course.

“Hello, love.” He reached out to her and wrapped a finger around her curls. When he placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, she allowed it and only blushed a tiny bit.

“Hello, James.” She pushed him away and ignored how hard his chest felt under her hand. Hermione stared at the purple and yellow bruise around his nose and wrinkled her nose. “How’s your face feeling?”

He leaned down and curled a lock of hair behind her ear before whispering into it. “I don’t feel it, thanks to a very clever little witch.”

She smiled as he pulled away and tried to quash the blush that clawed up her cheeks. “Good. Now, find out what’s going on so we can get out of here. Ethel wants to dance tonight and I really want to avoid it.”

James chuckled. “I’m good, love, but I don’t know that I’ll save the world on my first day.”

“Try,” she told him earnestly and he smirked at her with a ridiculous shake of his head that made his hair fall just right over his eye. He was like something out of an old black and white movie — and she couldn’t —  _ could not  _ — afford to think of him that way.

“Anything for you, doll face,” he said louder than necessary, earning a delightfully obnoxious squeal from Ethel.

She poked him in the ribs and mock-scowled. “You’re a prat, James Potter.”

“I’m  _ your _ prat, Hermione Granger!” He called back to her as he walked off and left her to deal with the swooning blonde at the bar.

“Oh, he’s just so dreamy!” Ethel poured them both a small drink and held one out to Hermione. “You two serious?”

Hermione watched as James walked to a private section of the room hidden behind a thick, purple curtain. He opened the curtain and a riotous greeting met him. She smiled at how easily he fell into his role, like once he put his mind to the task, he was going to succeed no matter what.

“He’s a good bloke,” Hermione told Ethel as she drank the offered illegal liquor in one gulp. She coughed and choked on it, much to Ethel’s amusement. “Ugh, that’s terrible.”

“That’s bathtub gin, honey. We can’t drink the good stuff for nothin’.” Ethel laughed and left Hermione to tend her tables after downing her own drink.

Hermione watched the purple curtain close and hide James behind it. She bit her lip and hoped that Leonard’s plan worked. But she wasn’t sure she was looking forward to returning to normal life. 

* * *

The scene he found himself in really was more along the lines of Sirius’ interests. Girls, booze, motors, guns. It was the American Dream that Sirius would point out in all of the magazines he’d ordered with his allowance. For James, though, he really had no idea what he was doing. Muggle fist fighting and counting American cash? If he wasn’t so good at faking it, he’d be a dead man.

Luckily, James Fleamont Potter excelled at the whole ‘fake it til you make it’ pathology and so, he stood with his fists tucked under his biceps to make his muscles look bigger under his shirt sleeves. He kept his lips straight, no trademark charming grin on his face. And he puffed his chest out, because that’s what Remus always did when the wolf claimed something for himself and wanted to scare everyone else away.

“Fellas, this here is Babyface.” The biggest, angriest looking bloke stuck a thumb in James’ direction. 

His whole facade fell. “ _ Baby _ face? You’re having a laugh. This is a man’s face, a chiseled face, some might say. Carved from marble and stoked with—”

His hands, which had fallen to his sides, rose as if to placate the three sets of glaring eyes that stared back at him.

“Only kidding, lads. I mean, men. Strong, strapping men. Fit men.”

“You some kind of clown, kid?” Big Angry asked him, a furrowed eyebrow raised menacingly over one of his dark eyes.

James pointed at his chest with a wide smile on his face. “Me? Noooo. I’m the least funny out of my friends, honestly.”

“So, you don’t like Babyface, eh?” Big Angry’s hand cupped his chin and he scratched at the stubble that lined it. James tried to ignore the other two who flanked Big Angry, even if their shoulders were shaking from minimally controlled laughter at his expense. “What’ll we call you?”

“Prongs?” James shrugged helplessly. He was pants at nicknames; that was always Peter’s speciality.

“Prongs?” Big Angry grunted. “You some kinda chef or something?”

“No.” He tested a laugh and took a step forward. The two burly men behind Big Angry twitched forward. “That’s ‘tongs.’ ‘Prongs’ is more like—“ How to say it in a way that they would understand? Ah! “— stabbing!”

“Vinnie, he ain’t cut out for this.” Burly One — James decided since they hadn’t been hospitable enough to share their names, he’d designate the two who flanked Big Angry as Burly One and Burly Two. “He’s a four-eyed dorcus.”

“Oi!” James advanced on Vinnie and slammed his hands down on the desk. Papers and cash jumped from it under the force. He lowered his face down so that he was eye level with the scariest bloke he’d seen in his life. “Four eyes are better than two, last I checked. And I bet I’m plenty cut out for this. I could outlast both of these gits in a fight.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Hormones? A thirst to prove himself? Gryffindor’s motto being ingrained in his brain since he was eleven years old? In any case, all three of the bulky men laughed. Vinnie clapped his hands together.

“Alright,  _ Babyface _ .” Vinnie pulled himself up using the table as leverage and James straightened his spine. He tried not to make a sound as he gulped around a thick knot in his throat. “I’ll take that bet. You and Johnny one on one. You win, you can be called whatever you want. You lose, you sleep with the fishes.”

“Sleep with the—” James watched Burly Two pretend to slice his neck open with his thumb. “Oh, right. Er—”

He rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, visibly pale and sizing up both of the Burlys. He hoped Johnny was the shorter of the two. The taller one stepped forward around Vinnie with a threatening leer on his stupid, scarred face.

“I’ll even offer you the first punch, kid,” Johnny sneered as he rolled the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows.

“Awfully kind of you,” James said hoarsely. “No weapons?”

“Just your fists. If Johnny kills you, Frankie’ll be pissed and we can’t afford to lose another guy, see.” Vinnie cleared a space in the middle of the floor and gestured for them to enter it. “First call of ‘mercy’ loses. Got that, kid?”

James threw a bob of his chin. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t learnt the art of muggle-style fighting before. In fact, Sirius taught him a thing or two about throwing punches. He lifted his fist up to block his most important asset -- his face — and bounced back on his heels in what he hoped looked at least partially defensive. All of Sirius’ talk of muggle fist fighting and not once did James ever actually use it practically. Jab, jab, duck, jab was about the extent of his lessons. He was already sporting a purple-yellow bruise on his face from the initiation into Frankie’s gang, he’d like to avoid anything broken or disfigured.

Johnny dabbed his nose with the tip of this thumb and watched James’ erratic bouncing like a chimera stalking its prey. Well, James wasn’t about to make the first move, oh no. He knew better than to run headfirst into the fray — that’s why one kept a werewolf as a friend. Scare them with the big eyes and the sharp teeth and the possessive nature, and then the stabby stag waltzes by without a scratch.

So, what’s a bloke to do without his friends to save his arse?

Johnny’s fist swiped forward and James was able to duck away from it just in time. He backed up immediately and chewed on his lip as Johnny smirked with crooked lips.

“Get on with it!” Vinnie growled at them. 

Burly Two’s hands pressed into James’ back, just beneath his shoulder blades, and shoved him forward.

“Oi!” James rushed forward without being able to stop and crashed straight into Johnny. “Crikey, I didn’t—”

Johnny’s fist connected with James’ ribcage and he doubled over as the breath whooshed out of his lungs. Another jab to what James could only imagine was his spleen, and James cried out in pain. He backed up quickly and hunched over to protect his midsection.

“Mercy, little Babyface?” Johnny threw another punch that just missed as James jerked his chin away.

“Like hell,” James spit. 

Something inside of him coiled like a spring. He didn’t want to be taken down, not by this Snivellus-esque bloke with beady eyes. No, he wanted to toppled the mingy bastard.He stepped forward and jabbed his fist out just as Sirius had taught him, though it connected with nothing. So, he tried again with his other fist and was radiant when he clipped Johnny’s shoulder.

“Ohhhh, little kitten has claws!” Vinnie barked a laugh.

The slight touch seemed to spur Johnny on, however. He moved faster, harder, and panted as he tried to wallop on James. No matter how many punches Johnny threw, though, none of them landed. His eyes glazed over as he frowned, an angry growl leaving the burly bloke as he advanced yet again with furious fists. James closed his eyes, waiting for impact that never came. He squinted as he peeked one eye open and found Johnny sailing past him.

What in the bloody hell was happening? 

James spun on the ball of his foot and readied his fists yet again to take a swing. That’s when he saw her. Curly, brown hair. Wide brown eyes. Wand tucked firmly at her side. He breathed through pursed hips and then offered her a brilliant, thankful smile. Hermione nodded with a strict expression on her face and tilted her head in the direction of the ape who continued to try and land a punch on his person.

“Your aim is shite, mate,” James taunted Johnny, his entire demeanor changed with the witch giving him an assist. “Let me show you how we do it in old Blighty.”

Johnny’s face morphed into one of confusion as James launched himself forward. He tackled Johnny to the ground by the waist and flung his hands wherever he could land a punch. The two onlooking gangsters cheered in gruff hollers and James used their praise as a means to continue flailing his fists. He had no doubt that Hermione was keeping Johnny pinned to the floor and he was thankful for it. 

She saved his arse.

“Say the word, you git!” James struck Johnny’s cheek and nearly cried out at the painful collision of bone on bone. He refused to lose this.

Johnny hocked a thick blob of blood through his lips and twisted under James’ weight. “Mercy, you crazy fucker. Mercy!”

Proud as a Hufflepuff with fresh cookies on offer, James sat back on his haunches and pumped a fist in the air. Vinnie gave him a slow clap and Burly Two grunted as he eyed James with a reserved sort of respect. James couldn’t help the grin that clawed its way onto his nearly-pristine face. His eyes found the swaying purple curtain where Hermione stood with a small, proud smile on her face. 

He lit up and made to salute her. Her eyes widened. His name fell from her perfectly shaped lips.

  
There was no time to react. He was nailed by a thick fist right in the jaw and knocked out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In theory, I thought 5 chapters. In practice: 6. We’re at the halfway point! I couldn’t possibly have gotten to this point nor found the end without the wonderful, gem of a soul: mcal. Thank you, lovely <3

She held a cloth wrapped around ice to his swollen lip as she stared down at James lying unconscious on the booth bench she’d dragged him to. His head was situated in her lap, despite the rising skirt of her beaded dress, and his hair fell off his forehead and back into a wavy mess. He was peaceful like this; she quite liked him knocked out cold. Hermione smiled down at James’ prone face just as his eyes began to flutter open.

“What happened?” He groaned and lifted a hand to his head. His eyes squinted against the light above him and she shushed him quietly. “Last thing I remember was winning the bet.”

Of course that’s what he would remember, Hermione thought as she pressed her lips together in a thin line. She applied more pressure to the bump on his mouth and when he winced, she flashed a smirk at him.

“You were acting like an idiot in your victory,” she said slowly, using her free hand to run her fingers through his silky flyaway hair. “Johnny took advantage of your big head and punched you in the mouth.”

He tried to sit up, but Hermione shoved him down gently by the shoulder. “Let me at him with my wand and I’ll show him a thing or two!”

“You can’t go rampaging through the bar with your wand, James.” He didn’t seem to like that, but she stood her ground and kept him in place despite his wiggling body. “If I let you go after him now, you’d spoil everything. Leonard needs this. Remember the prophecy?”

James stopped fighting her and groaned. He adjusted his body on the bench and twisted so that he was lying on his side. His face staring at the fabric pulled taut over her torso. She was so used to coddling her boys like this, though, that she didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t understand it. You and I here, in the nineteen twenties, having to save the world from a threat it doesn’t even have yet?” James sighed as Hermione pulled the icy cloth away from his face. “Doesn’t it sound a little… off to you?”

“Of course it does,” she whispered as Ethel’s thin body shimmied through the bar with a tray full of drinks. “But it falls in line with everything I read in the history section at Hogwarts. Grindelwald’s takeover starts here with the Barebones. I just don’t know  _ how _ .”

“How do gangsters tie into the darkest wizard in history?” His voice was a mumble against her as she ran her hand through his hair again. 

Ethel’s heart-eyed look in their direction caused Hermione to blush. She was only playing a part, of course. When they were in the bar or with Vinnie and his gang, Hermione and James were in love; a couple living the American dream with big eyes and hopeful pocketbooks. She tossed a smile to Ethel and then let her gaze fall back to James. His lip was split from Johnny’s fist and his cheekbone still sported a discolored bruise.

“They’re hardly the most passive group in history,” Hermione grumbled as she swiped her finger over his cheek. His eyes darted to hers, shining and brilliant hazel gazed at her. “Vinnie was impressed with you today. I think you’re in with him. It should make getting to Frankie easier.”

“Frankie had me roughed up a little,” James reminded her as his lips pulled down in a slight frown. “This gang of his hates me, I think.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, actually. Vinnie told Johnny it was a cheap shot. I think Vinnie likes you. He’s asked us to stay past close tonight for the after hours event.”

“After hours?” His eyebrows shot up and he turned his head so that he was staring up at her face again. Hermione didn’t like the way his gaze sent butterflies soaring through her belly. “Is that code for something?”

“Shady deals, I imagine.” Hermione shrugged.

It wasn’t a lot to go on, not really. But Leonard was clear about Frankie being a bad muggle, that he was married to a fierce anti-wizard woman, and had a powerful weapon at his disposal. They just didn’t know what it was. And Hermione couldn’t remember it from the books she read. There was nothing about a muggle weapon being used in the Grindelwald war, but perhaps that was the magic of time travel; she wouldn’t know until it happened, right?

She didn’t know. And Hermione Granger did not like to not know things. It made her uncomfortable. Worse, even, was that she didn’t know what she was going to go back to once they were able to solve Leonard’s mystery. Would she be tortured again? Was she saving the world now just to die in the next war? She worried her bottom lip and stared out at the crowded bar around them.

“Hey.” James’ hand came up to her face and he shimmied himself up from the booth bench so that he was sitting with her legs between his knees. He popped her lip out of her teeth and flashed his teeth in a charming smile. “It’ll be alright, Hermione. I don’t know how much you know of me from your time, but I’m fairly tenacious when it comes to a task.”

She snorted even as her heart clenched. What Hermione knew of James Potter was indeed that he was tenacious, however those were second hand stories. How could she possibly tell him that she didn’t actually know him personally? That all of her knowledge about him was hand-me-down memories? Her face must have fallen again, because he pulled her closer by her cheeks and donned one of his brilliant smiles.

“So, you  _ do _ know that about me? I can see it in your eyes. It’s the same look Lily gets when Sirius and I tell her that we have a plan.” He chuckled, not at all sensing her mood. “We’ll find out what Frankie’s up to and we’ll save the world. It’s sort of my specialty.”

“You haven’t ever saved the world.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at his carefree nature. So opposite to her and yet, she felt safe there, reassured that everything might be alright.

“Not true.” His hand fell from her face and Hermione found herself missing its warmth. She curled her fingers into the beads on her dress and crossed her legs. “One time, in third year, Peter mixed powder of asphodel with eye of newt in its raw form, and if I hadn’t thrown a shield charm up when I did, Frank Longbottom would have turned into an inferi.”

Something seized inside of her at the names that James threw around so casually. Peter. Frank. Merlin, so many things happened to him and to those he loved and James was none the wiser to the heartache of the world yet. 

She tried to smile, forced it on her face and held her breath. Otherwise she’d dissolve into mess right in his lap.

* * *

Hermione was right when she said James was in. Vinnie clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a tumbler of some foul-smelling alcohol before pulling him into the fold of plans for the evening. The after hours event, as he’d called it, turned out to be a coverup for a bootlegging business deal. Frankie Barebone was importing booze and along with it, various magical artifacts.

James acted surprised to hear about magic even as he gripped his wand tightly in his pocket. He gasped where needed and even lifted his brow in curiosity. Vinnie and his other two thug friends bought his acting and James listened as they talked of the next delivery to take place.

“So, they’re bringing in dark magic items?” Hermione’s eyebrows lifted and James’ lips rose as he watched her mind work behind her eyes. “Well, that’s it, then. Something he imports has to be the catalyst to Grindelwald’s reign of terror.”

James nods his head in a lazy bob. His elbows rested on the bar where Hermione poured him a small glass of some clear liquor. He watched as she served up drinks to other patrons and then made her way back to him. She leaned over the bar and he tried — he  _ did _ — to ignore the way her low cut dress showed off the tops of her breasts as the bar lifted them. She snapped her fingers in his face; clearly he wasn’t that good at being discreet.

“Eyes up here, Potter,” she chided him, though he swore he caught the smallest hint of a smile on the edge of her lip.

Hermione was a pretty girl, with long legs and an arse he could sink his teeth into. No point denying it. And James wasn’t sure what type of fashion existed in nineteen ninety eight, but he damn sure hoped that it was this flapper attire that she currently found herself wrapped in. The way the dress clung to her and made little clacking noises as she sashayed behind the bar — it was the first time he’d been so turned on by a witch that wasn’t Lily Evans. And, even better, Hermione gave him a lot of shite, but when she smiled that perfect smile at him, James melted like butter on a hot day.

He grinned at her as he drew his gaze up the column of her throat, pausing for a brief moment on her lips, and then landed on her eyes again. “Sorry, love. What was I saying? Right. They’re not moving anything through the bar until late tonight.”

“We’ll be here all night, then.” Hermione used a rag to wipe down the bar and tossed it into the sink behind her. “Right. I better head out there and deliver drinks or the blokes in this place will cause a ruckus.”

“I don’t like the way they leer at you.” James grabbed her hand before she could turn away from him. “It’s like they want to take you to the back and—”

“That’s just blokes in the twentieth century, I’m afraid.” She withdrew her hand and made to walk away, but James’ heart thudded in his chest and he called out to her before she rounded the bar.

“Dance with me, Granger.” James watched her eyes widen and pressed his palms together just under his chin as if to beg. “One dance, let those gits know that you’re spoken for?”

“I don’t know that it would help,” she admitted to him as she pulled the plump corner of her lip between her teeth.

“Couldn’t hurt.” He stood from the bar and walked to the end where she paused. 

James held his hand out and then nodded his head to the little dance floor where a group of women moved in sync to the music. He never saw a dance quite like it, with their feet moving forward and back, their hands palm down to the floor. He raised his eyebrows at Hermione, a challenge in his gaze.

She narrowed her eyes in return and took his proffered hand in her own. Her grip was tight as she dragged him out to the dance floor.

“Have you ever danced the Charleston?” Her voice rose over the loud music and she put her palms parallel to the floor. “I’ll warn you now, I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Not possible,” James said as he mimicked her stance with a smile that crinkled his eyes. “You’re as good as your partner, and I’m brilliant.”

She began to move and he positively danced circles around her. Literally. He moved just as taught, loose body, feet front and back and tap and repeat. He remembered the eight count his instructor drilled into him and moved around Hermione faster than she could keep up. But, her laugh. The way it left her so easily and so freely, it made his heart soar. James found that he liked evoking that reaction from her and tried purposefully to keep it coming.

He took her hands from behind her and turned her on the spot. With a dip, he hovered over her with a cheshire-like grin. She slapped his chest and tossed her head back with a laugh. The long, slender throat she bared pulsed under his gaze and blushed red. He was struck with the desire to plant his lips right to it, but she lifted up and was out of his arms before he could act.

There was something in her eyes when she turned to look at him again. The normal, bright brown that stared back at him was darker. Maybe it was the lighting, or perhaps her flush meant something more. He wasn’t sure. The music settled into something slower, the beats of it long and romantic. Cozy.

When Hermione made to whip around him in a flourish, he grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her close. Her body crashed into his and his hand wound around her waist. Her gaze flicked up to his and her mouth dropped open with a silent “oh”. He flashed her a little grin and held her close as he ducked his head.

“One more,” he whispered, voice catching at the back of his throat when he felt her breath tickle his nose.

“James, I—” Her hand curled into his chest, just over his heart where it was slamming against his sternum. He was sure she could feel it, the way she sent him into a tailspin.

His free hand moved up to her face and rested on her chin. He tilted her face up to his. “Just one more, Granger. For luck. Before we try to save the world.”

She considered him and he could see the war behind her eyes. His fingers lingered on her chin until she nodded her head and slowly dragged her hands from his chest to around his neck. Something shifted between them then. Like static, a friction sat between them and sent excitement through him as he held her against his body. The whole dance floor melted away and it was just him and Hermione and the soft melody from the band.

“This is just for show,” she said as she laid her head against his chest. “Hands above my arse, Potter.”

He rested his chin against the top of her head and swallowed around a thick knot in his throat. Right. Just for show. An act. Fake, as Leonard had asked. A story for the gangsters to buy so that they could discover their secrets and save the world.

But then, as he moved them around in a slow circle on the floor, James wondered if he wasn’t completely in over his head.

“Hermione,” he breathed her name into her hair and watched as a curl escaped onto her cheek. “I’m not faking this.”

She pulled her head back and stared up at him. The apples of her cheeks were dusted with pink. He pushed the stray curl from her cheek and into the pins holding her hair short above her neck.

“James.” His name was just a sigh from her lips. “This is a bad idea.” So quiet, laced with something desperate that did nothing to dissuade him from what came next.

“Probably.” He didn’t even allow the word to fully leave him before his lips touched hers. 

Gentle, soft. Warm, just as he’d pictured earlier when she was holding the icy flannel to his lip. It still stung, where Johnny hit him in the mouth, but it was worth every bit of pain when she gasped against his lips and melted into the kiss. James slid his hands up and down her sides, the rough beads of her dress digging into his palms. He just couldn’t get her close enough. Every breathy sigh that left her, James swallowed.

It might have been a terrible idea. Perhaps he shouldn’t mix saving the world with pleasure. But then, no one warned him what a delicious snog Hermione Granger would turn out to be.

“Prongs!” A thick, gravelly voice shouted out and James broke away from Hermione.

She stared at him quietly as he extracted himself from her. Their eyes didn’t break contact, and he worried about the panic building behind her eyes. He dipped down, a single kiss on her reddened lips.

“We’ll be doing that again,” he promised her before he turned away and headed to the voice that continued to call out his name.

His heart slammed erratically. His palms were slick with sweat. 

But one thing was for sure — 

He wasn’t faking anything with Hermione Granger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because LadyKenz is brilliant and I just can’t help myself: welcome to chapter 4!
> 
> Alpha love to the brilliant mcal <3

Hermione watched James tear through the crowd with a hand to her lips. Bloody hell, she was in so deep. She wasn’t even sure what made her kiss him back. So many things were wrong with it; he was Harry’s father, he was dead in her time, he was supposed to be married to Lily, they were displaced in time, they were supposed to be saving the wizarding world from its Grindelwald war. Any one of those things should have stopped her from snogging James Potter.

None of them did. And none of them kept her from wanting to do it again.

“Blimey,” she whispered to no one as she walked in a daze from the dance floor to the bar.

“You two are swell!” Ethel poured several shots of bathwater gin into little glasses and pushed the tray out to Hermione, who was still foggy from her kiss. “Does he kiss you like that all the time?”

A breathy laugh hissed through her teeth as she lifted the tray and nearly toppled it over onto the floor. “Yeah, I suppose he does.”

  
What else was she supposed to say? Hermione shook her head to try and clear it and then found Ethel’s toothy smile right in her face. The girl moved like a predator, quiet and fast.

“Say, does he have an older brother? I’m tired of goons like Johnny.” Her thin eyebrows rose and she tossed Hermione a cheeky wink. “Table six, honey. Special guests of Frankie’s.”

Ethel pointed Hermione to the table. It was nestled in a dark corner near the purple curtained room. There were five men sitting there, all of them in hats and suits. Older. Strict looking. Hermione made her way over to them on shaky legs and began setting the drinks down on the table as the blokes chatted away as if she wasn’t standing right there beside them.

“Tommy Gun doesn’t want the boy,” the closest man said gruffly. “His broad demanded the kid stay.”

“What’s so special about him?” 

Hermione tried not to appear as if she was listening as she continued to dot the drinks around the table.

“I ain’t got a clue, Mick.” Meaty fingers wrapped around the glass. “He’s a bit demented, as far as I can see. Quiet, like. Wonder if he wasn’t dropped as a baby.”

The men clinked their glasses together and poured the disgusting liquid down their throats without blinking. Hermione wanted to gag on their behalf; she’d tasted the bathwater gin and it was like licking an alcohol swab.

“Some funny stuff happens around the boy.”

Hermione furrowed her brow as she gathered the glasses again. She didn’t want to seem too keen, but also needed to watch herself so they didn’t get suspicious. A young boy, a strange boy, that Frankie had. She wondered who he was — she knew the Barebones took in orphans, but they seemed so fixated on this one lad.  _ Funny stuff _ , in particular, sounded like the type of thing that her parents’ friends would say about a young Hermione whose accidental magic couldn’t be explained.

“Grab us another round, sweet cheeks.”

A hand swatted her arse and she jumped. Her hand moved instinctively to her wand as she gritted her molars together and practiced counting to five in her head. They stared at her and she stared back. Every fiber of her soul screamed at her to do  _ something _ , but she knew it would ruin everything. The scar on her arm itched with the injustice of it.

“Coming right up,” she seethed through clenched teeth as she turned on her heel and let a steady, angry breath out of her lungs. “Tossers.”

She tossed the tray onto the bar and the glasses clinked around and fell over. Every hair on her body stood straight on end in her rage. Ethel cleaned up the tray and filled it up again as Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the men in the booth.

“What’s wrong with you?” The blonde asked with sparkling eyes, as if the same thing hadn’t ever happened to her night after night.

“Those bloody arseholes,” Hermione hissed and Ethel jumped back, spilling gin all over the top of the bar. “If that bloke calls me another demeaning name, I’ll take his bollocks.”

Ethel laughed, a cackling sound that rang through the bar. “Oh, honey! I don’t know what half of those words mean, but I can tell you that’s just the way they are here. Maybe men in Britain ain’t pigs, but they sure are here.”

She wanted to growl and thrash and stamp her foot at the sheer unfairness of it all. Instead, Hermione grabbed the tray and tore through the bar to the table of men that had her blood boiling.

“There’s a guy that’s willing to pay for the little brat.”

Hermione slammed her tray down onto the table and earned the startled stares of all the men around it. She offered them a forced, simpering smile that belied the fury in her eyes as she passed around the drinks.

“Frankie’s wife won’t let him take the kid.”

“Frankie’s wife doesn’t get a say. The kid is worth more money than his entire bootlegging business.”

“Shhh, Tony. The girl.” 

  
Finally, someone looked at her. She pretended not to hear anything and smiled at the one called Tony.

“I think she’s sweet on me, boys,” Tony laughed and clapped his hands together as he leered at Hermione. She flushed and made to back away. “Got plans tonight, sugar?”

Deep breaths. Count to five. Flex fingers. Hermione tried every trick in the book, but she couldn’t quell the rising rage building within her. A hand reached out and grabbed her arse and she lost it before she even had a chance to consider what it meant.

“Take your bloody hand off me!” She twisted her body and smacked at his hand. The sting on her palm was satisfying. “You disgusting pig.”

He stood, tall and wide, and towered over her. But, Hermione straightened her spine and glared up at him with her chin raised and her hands on her hips. Merlin help her, she felt ready to hex this man into oblivion. The scar on her arm flared. Just a girl, just a mudblood, just a useless body with which the world could do with what it pleased.

Bollocks to that.

  
Hermione took a small step forward into the man’s space.

“Good,” he grunted and brought a hand up to her face. “I like it when they’re feisty.”

Hermione captured his wrist in her hand. She couldn’t even get her ringers wrapped around it, but she squeezed as hard as she could and dug her nails into his skin. He made a noise of pain in the back of his throat and she closed her grip harder. Tony tried to shake her off, but she wouldn’t let go. Her free hand ran into the seam of her dress and she caressed her wand before holding it steady.

She fired off a stinging hex nonverbally and grinned in satisfaction as he jumped back and fell into the booth.

“What the fuck?” The man shouted and the entire bar went silent.

“I warned you to keep your hands off me,” Hermione reminded him in a melodious sort of whisper. 

She grabbed the tray from the table, damn the glasses that lay full still in front of each of them, and turned on her heel toward the bar. She had a lot to talk to James about and it couldn’t wait.

  
“I’ll have your damn job over this, you—”

Her hair sparked as the magic ran through her fingers and coursed up the length of her wand.

Silencing charm ought to do it.

* * *

Crates and crates of booze had James’ back screaming. It’s not that he wasn’t fit, because he  _ was _ in more ways than one. But manual labor? Merlin, what he wouldn’t give for a house elf to snap the crates into the bar.

“Hey, Prongs—” Johnny called over to James with a cheeky grin pushing at his lips. His eyebrows wagged as he tossed something over to James. “Bottle of whisky to take home to your girl?”

James held the round glass against his upper torso and grinned back at Johnny. Turns out, once you clock Johnny and allow him a good punch in, he’s an alright bloke. He held the bottle up in a salute and set it down on a nearby table.

“Frankie won’t mind?” James asked as he lifted his end of the crate.

  
“Nah, Tommy Gun only cares about the good stuff,” Johnny said as he began the pace back to the stockroom of the bar.

“What’s better than whisky?” James quipped, but the look on Johnny’s face quieted him. “Not booze?”

“He’s got an interest in the occult, you see.” They dropped the crate on the cement floor. Johnny wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“The occult? Like witchcraft?” He wanted to poke fun at the muggle’s understanding of what the occult actually was to magical folk like himself, but he didn’t. Personal growth, he called it.

Johnny nodded gravely. “Rumor is some of this booze ain’t booze. Potions, they say.”

“Potions.” James pursed his lips and glanced at the crate. He wondered what Johnny would say about cracking one open to have a peek. “Is there any proof?”

“Of course not.” Johnny laughed and gestured for James to follow him into the bar. “That shit’s not real. Besides, the prohibition’s a moneymaker. Frankie doesn’t need potions or voodoo.”

Voodoo. James shirked, his mind running to the one time he’d seen voodoo with his own eyes. Dark magic, that. He had no inclination to see it again.

They stepped through the curtain that separated the bar from the warehouse and his eyes immediately fell on a petite brunette. Her eyes were on fire, sparkling as if she gazed directly into the flames of Hell itself. And the smile on her face should have scared any witch or muggle who dared cross her. His heart lodged in his throat. Hermione was magnificent.

He approached her despite the crackling magic he could feel emanating from her. His smile widened as her lips fell open, a soft pillow on which to rest his own lips. The world around him, so keen on beating at his shoulders and stealing her away, melted into a blur and quieted the second his body entered her space.

He was done for.

James placed a hand gently on her cheek and threw his most dashing smile at her. “Alright, love?”

He watched the way her throat tensed, how her lips snapped back together, and her eyes dipped to his lips and back again. Something was wrong and his fingers tensed against her cheek, brow pulling together as he flicked his gaze over her shoulder.

“Men are horrible,” she said finally and reached up to his hand to pull it from her face. “That — that  _ man _ thought it was okay to grope me and call me ‘sweet cheeks’!”

“Which man?” His lips barely moved, eyes narrowed in the direction of several men in a booth glaring at Hermione’s back.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, a furious rush of breath laced her words. “He won’t be doing it again.”

“What did you do?” He watched as one of the men rubbed his hand over his wrist. His lips were pinched. A small smirk crawled up James’ face as their eyes met.

“Stinging hex and silencing charm.” Hermione didn’t miss a beat and the challenge in her voice brought his eyes back to hers.

“Brilliant,” he praised her with nothing short of a full grin. “You remind me a lot of someone back home.”

“Lily?” There was a tightness in her smile, the spark in her eyes fading with every passing second.

James shook his head. Merlin, no. “Sirius. Standing up for what you believe in, damn anyone who tries to stop you. And there’s this look in your eyes.”

Hermione gazed at him through her impossibly long lashes. That look, the one he saw the very moment James appeared in the 20s; determination. It made his stomach roll in the best way. The start of an adventure, the beginning of something huge.

“It’s a look that says we’re about to do something possibly very stupid, but definitely worth the effort.” 

She beamed at him and his soul sang. “Since you’ve brought it up, I think we need to see Leonard. I’ve discovered something about Frankie Barebone that he’ll need to hear.”

And just like that, they were back to the mission. James nodded and ignored the swooping sensation coursing through him. “Johnny gave up some good information, too. Let’s summon him.”

“Wait.” Hermione startled. “Now?”

“I think before we get gunned down by muggles,” James joked, though the tightness in his chest as the blokes in the booth began to rise was a little incentivizing. “Johnny and I are done with the work for the night and it looks like the bar is emptying out. Let’s go back to our place and contact Leonard.”

“But—” Her hand gripped his forearm as he turned to say goodnight to Ethel and Johnny, who were flirting behind the bar. James turned to her canted his head; she looked worried. “If we’ve solved it — does that mean we… go back?”

The words died in her throat as James sucked in a breath. Right; he was never thinking things through like this. He just charged in, task at hand, and thought about the consequences later. But this — Hermione, meeting her so randomly through time — wasn’t something he wanted to consider a consequence.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured her, running his hands up and down her arms. The way her eyes misted over made his heart clench. “If we have to go back tonight, I’ll find you. I won’t let anything get in my way. I’ll be right there waiting for you.”

And he would. He’d search the world over to explore this new feeling blossoming inside him. He’d tear time apart to make sure he got back to her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to mcal, the amazing alpha and talker-downer-from-panics friend! <3

James kept saying things like ‘it’ll be okay’ and ‘I’ll see you again’ and ‘I’m very persistent; I can wait forever.’ And it was noble and charming and the very best that she knew of James Potter.

But it wouldn’t happen. He was dead. When she returned to the war and to torture and possible death, he’d be dead.

It wasn’t as if Hermione had any notions that they were in love. Hell, she was still convinced he was passing off as a smooth Casanova — such a Marauder thing to do. Sirius had detailed exactly how James had peacocked himself straight into Lily’s heart when she’d spent time with him in Grimmauld Place in fifth year. And that was another point — Lily Potter was meant for James. James was meant for her. No amount of flirting, dancing, or snogging should change that fact.

Hermione was nothing if not pragmatic. As James opened the door to the little flat they were meant to share in a small magical community, she tried to rationalize her feelings and all of the reasons it was a bad idea for her to pine after him. First, he was spoken for. Perhaps he and Lily hadn’t fallen in love yet, but it  _ would _ happen one day soon. Second, Harry must be born. Changing the future, removing Harry, forcing James to be a bachelor for twenty years while he waited for her to grow up, perhaps worsening an already terrible war, were not prices she was willing to pay for having feelings.

And who knew what she would become after the war. The word Mudblood carved into her arm stung just as much now as it did when she’d been forcibly dragged through time. With a glamour, she could keep her mind off it. She’d always be that: a Mudblood, less than. She might die by the end of the war and then what would James have waited for? A ghost.

No, she couldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t.

“You’re looking awfully peaky.” James grabbed her hand and led her gently to the edge of her bed.

It was a simple room; white walls and white sheets, no decorations at all. Simple. Sterile. She was sure that it was used to harbor fugitives of the magical community as they sought safety from the worsening muggle anti-wizarding movement. No one must’ve stayed for long.

Hermione sat and yanked her hand from James’ as he took a seat next to her. The bed dipped and she rested her elbows on her thighs. Her fingers wrung together as she tried to think about what to tell him.

“I’m nervous about summoning Leonard,” she said finally, refusing to look him in the eyes. “There’s so much left to chance. The prophecy doesn’t make sense and in my experience, most wizards who say they’re good are evil.”

James laughed and it sat like a rock in her heart. He really didn’t know the world that faced him when he returned to his time. And she didn’t want to shatter his bubble, but it was precisely this arrogant behavior that would result in his death. Good people could easily become bad people. Peter, for instance.

She ground her molars together. “It’s not funny. You have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you admire become something you hate.”

“Hey, wait, I didn’t mean anything by—” James reached for her, but she jumped up from the bed and put as much space as she could between them. His brows lifted almost into his hairline and he watched as she fidgeted against the wall. “Does this have to do with how I found you the first night we were here?”

“Yes — no.” Her hands shot out in front of her and she gripped the air as if trying to cling to some kind of reason that continued to elude her. “I don’t —  _ of course _ I don’t want to go back to that! You saw what it was like, what I am, what that means, but—”

He stood in front of her and pressed his hard abdomen against her hands. The way he towered over her, the concern shining from his hazel eyes, the strict line of his mouth that she was sure she’d never seen once on James Potter’s face, it overwhelmed her. She unclenched her hands and let them rest against his body, just enough force to keep the distance between them.

“But what?” The gravelly quality of his voice shot straight through her, but she couldn’t focus on it, not on what had happened the last time they were so close, when he’d whispered in her ear in that same stomach-swooping tone. “Hermione, what is it?”

“It’s what  _ you’re _ going back to,” she whispered, closing her eyes because she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. “I know what you go back to, I know the entire story of your life, James, and I can’t—”

Her breathing sped up as her heart threatened to pound straight through her chest. She pressed a hand to her sternum and tried to slow her breathing and stymy the pain, but it wouldn’t go away. The world around her swam in a strange blur. She was sure she was going to faint. Her fingers curled into James’ shirt and he stepped into her at the same time, holding her steady with her back against the wall.

James’ hands rested on her shoulders before sliding up the sides of her neck. His thumbs rested on her jaw and forced her chin up to look at him. “Hermione, whatever I go back to, no matter what it is, it won’t keep me from finding you and stopping whatever hell you went through before coming here.”

“Yes it will!” She screamed the words, her throat raw with the force of it. James startled and all of the humor and light fell off his face. A part of her cracked watching the everlasting frivolity vanish from him. “You’re dead. You and Lily and Sirius — you’re all dead.”

His hands dropped from her shoulders. James took a step back and she watched him pivot. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Silence clung to them like smoke to cloth; it made her sick, watching as everything he ever imagined for his future dashed away and doused the sparkle in his eyes.

“How does it happen?” No inflection, just monotonous and heavy. Hermione shook her head silently and pressed her lips together. James’ voice raised. “ _ How _ , Hermione?”

Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't look at him anymore and dropped her eyes to their feet. He wouldn’t let her; his hand forced her chin up, her eyes back to his. “Voldemort, he—”

“Fuck.” The curse dropped from his lips as he brought his hands to his face and roughly wiped them up and down before running his fingers through his coiffed hair.

“You and Lily have a baby named Harry and—”

“No, don’t.” James shook his head and grabbed at a chunk of his hair. “My child? That son of a bitch kills my child?”

Her soul shattered right there between them.  _ Not yet _ , she wanted to say, but instead mimicked the way James shook his head. “Harry — he’s my best friend, he survived. But you and Lily died to save him.”

So many emotions passed through his expressive hazel eyes; sadness, fear, pride. He settled on somber, the corners of his eyes tight and the hazel darker than she’d seen before. It swept through her like the melody of a tragic song. Several beats of silence passed as they stared at each other, simply living in the gaze of one another. She didn’t know what to say, how to make it better. She couldn’t even make herself better.

“So, I’m meant to die when I go back.” It wasn’t a question, just a whispered statement of fact. His face didn’t betray what might be going on in his mind. So different to Harry, whom she could read like a book. “Right. And Lily — she finally comes around to my charms?”

There was something playing at the edge of his lips; not quite a smirk, more sardonic and bereft. Hermione pressed her lips into a straight line and nodded.

“It happens in your seventh year, from what Sirius and Remus told us.” Her hand found his forearm and held on with a steel grip. She had to tell him; now that she’d jeopardized the future of everything, now that James understood, she couldn’t not take a little comfort back to Harry. “Harry is brilliant, James. He looks just like you, but has Lily’s eyes. He’s clever and powerful. And he’s survived so much. He’s strong and—”

The words died in her throat. The pain of missing her friend, of fighting alongside him for what was good and right, hit her like a bomb to the chest. She gave in and let out a gasping cry. James took her by the shoulder and moved her back to the bed. He held her close and told her everything would be okay, that they would be okay, that if he had to die for those he loved, he’d choose to save them every single time.

“Hermione,” he said as her tears slowed, his fingers dragging through her hair languidly. “What if I could change it? What if I could take this knowledge and go back and fix everything?”

Merlin, she wished. She wished so hard that her heart could explode under the pressure of it. But, she knew better. She knew how dangerous it was and so she sniffed and pulled her head back to look him in the eyes.

“You can’t, James. Horrible things happen to people who mess with time.” She remembered saying the same thing to Harry once. She smiled when his face mimicked that of his son’s in the future.

“Good things happen, too.” 

It was so soft, so certain, that she couldn’t help but get captured in the moment. It was clear that he meant them meeting like an act of fate, as if it had been predestined for this, kismet. He looked so hopeful about it, so earnest in his declaration, that she let her lips raise at the corners.

She opened her mouth to argue with him gently, but never got the chance. His lips descended onto hers and captured them in a slow, tender kiss. Hermione breathed slowly through her nose and fell into the kiss as her eyes fluttered closed. She felt him smile, or perhaps smirk, and moved her hands up to tangle into his hair and pull him closer. He allowed it and pressed his lips against hers harder, deepening their kiss and coaxing her tongue with a swipe of his own.

It was magic, the way her body buzzed under his attention. She couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t feel enough of his kiss, and James took note as the kiss evolved into something more urgent. Primal. Hermione was pushed back onto the bed and he hovered over her without breaking their kiss for a moment. They were lost in every sensation, every skin to skin contact, every dip of the tongue and soft moan from the lips.

It lasted for ages and yet, it was over so soon.

  
James propped himself up on an elbow and swiped his hair from his face as he gazed down at her. That confident, rogue smile plastered itself on his face and her belly swooped.

“I could snog you all day,” he said as his fingers trailed down the soft skin of her arm.

Her lips raise lazily. “I could let you snog me all day.”

“But?” As if he sensed what was coming, James’ brows drew together.

“But, we need to tell Leonard what we found. And then—”

“And then I die and you—”

Hermione didn’t know what going back would mean for her. She didn’t know if she’d endure more torture or if she’d die. And, if she lived, what would she become? Her eyes dropped to the glamoured cuts on her arm and she bit the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t know,” she said on a heavy breath. She watched his throat constrict. “But, I trust Harry and I believe we can defeat evil as long as we’re together.”

“You and my son, are you—” There was a softness in his eyes that didn’t meet the tightness of his lips.

“No.” Her hand met his cheek. “He’s my best friend, nothing more.” 

“Thank Merlin.” A chuckle, a deep exhale, shook his shoulders. “I can overlook a lot of things, but I don’t think I could handle fancying my future son’s bird. Too bloody strange.”

It earned a laugh from Hermione; she snorted softly and pulled his face down for another soft, quick kiss.

“Nothing about this isn’t strange,” she admitted as her heart swelled under the weight of realizing that James fancied her.

The war kept taking things away from her.

But she never expected it to give her this, too.

* * *

  
James was bricking it.

Over the course of one night, he learned that he was destined to marry Lily as he always knew, but also that fate was an absolute dickhead and would see him dead before they could grow old together.

As much as he tried his damndest to hide how fucking shite he felt about it, he still couldn’t bring himself to summon Leonard. The man who would send him back to a world that would expel him in a few short years. To a world that would orphan a small boy and force him to learn survival so young.

It was shite, the whole lot of it.

He was quiet as Leonard appeared in their room, stupid hat and ridiculously bright purple robes. The easy smile he had on his face, the way he held himself so certainly, as if it was nothing at all to send James back to his death or Hermione to torture. He wanted to punch the smile off his face and tell him to fight his own battles.

But he couldn’t. Not when so much hung in the balance.

He watched Hermione as she told Leonard everything they’d learned that night. That there was an orphaned boy who lived with the Barebones and that the boy was displaying signs of magic. That Frankie wanted to off the boy, that his wife was determined to stamp out the odd behavior of the kid. She called the boy Credence, and James was sure he’d never heard of a wizard called such a thing.

“I think Frankie means to remove the boy or use him in some occult ritual,” Hermione said to punctuate her long recollection of events that night. “James found out through Johnny that Frankie’s really into dark magic things. A muggle with a wife who calls for the public execution of witches, can you believe it?”

“Muggles are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Leonard told her with a sad sort of pull to his lips.

“Where I’m from, wizards are the ones who are afraid of what they don’t understand.” Hermione had fire in her eyes, even as they dipped to her arm and back to Leonard again. “As a muggleborn, I can assure you that both sides are wrong, now  _ and _ then.”

James wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She was so mighty, so full of righteous anger at the state of her world, and he found that he admired her for it. A Gryffindor trait, which surprised him. He’d believed her to be a Ravenclaw; so smart and logical where he was brash and reactive. A small smile played at the corner of his lips as he canted his head toward her.

“What?” It was sharp, as if she expected him to argue.

James shook his head, a chunk of dark hair falling over his eye. “I didn’t peg you for a Gryffindor, is all.”

She rewarded him with a smile that set his heart on fire. Merlin, he wished things were different and that she was going back with him instead.

“The hat stalled for a bit,” she admitted as she chewed on her lip. “Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It even mentioned that I might do well in Slytherin if my blood wasn’t — well, I found a home in Gryffindor anyway.”

James opened his mouth to say something charming, even though he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He was too busy getting lost in her fiery gaze, in the way the bow of her lip stretched in a proud smile. Leonard interrupted before he had the chance to make an arse of himself.

“It sounds like there’s only one course of action here, then.” As if he’d missed the entire conversation about Hogwarts and the way James and Hermione were growing closer right before his eyes. James tore his stare from hers and landed on Leonard. “The prophecy specifically says that the boy falls into the wrong hands. Frankie can’t be allowed anywhere near Credence.”

“What do you intend to do? Adopt Credence?” He watched Hermione watch Leonard. She was fascinating, the way she cared about a boy she’d never met.

“No, I’m not much of a caretaker,” Leonard laughed. “Frankie is a bad man. I intend to remove him from Credence’s life. That will null the prophecy and ensure that the kid isn’t in danger of falling into the wrong hands.”

“But he’s magical!” Hermione pushed James’ arm off her shoulders and stood in defense of the boy. “You can’t just leave him with that — that  _ muggle _ . He’ll—”

“He’s dangerous.” Leonard’s voice thundered through the room and James jolted to his feet.

“Oi with the tone, Twelvetrees.” He placed Hermione just behind him, ready to pounce like a lion if the bloke even thought of raising his voice once more at his witch.

“Sorry, sorry.” He held up his hands with a genial smile on his face. Leonard patted down his pockets and withdrew a crude looking hourglass welded into a circle that had runes carved into it. “I’ll ensure the boy is looked after. You have nothing to worry about, I give you my word.”

Hermione pushed James to the side and he tried not to laugh as she stood toe to toe with Leonard. She held her hand out for the hourglass — whatever it was — and glared up at him with those expressive brown eyes. James placed his hand on her lower back; if he only had a small amount of time left with her, he wanted to take advantage of every second he could touch her.

“This is a first issue time-turner,” she whispered as Leonard dropped it into her hand. “The runes are basic, at best. How in the world did you get us here with  _ this _ ?”

“It’s not a time-turner, as such,” Leonard admitted. “I was able to plant its twin in the Ministry in England when I visited last summer. The pair act as conduits to a charm of my own invention.”

“I’ve never read about this in any history book,” Hermione sounded fascinated as she held the small trinket at eye level and scrutinized its every detail. James watched her; runes wasn’t exactly his passion, so he’d have no idea what it was he was looking at. “It really was just luck that brought James and I to you, wasn’t it?”

The hat-wearing sod barked a laugh as a proud smile overtook his cheeks. “It was, yes. I had no idea who Fate would throw at me.”

“How are you sure this is going to send us back to the right times?” James ducked down to look at the trinket. Nope, still made no bloody sense. “If it was luck that brought us here, and I truly believe it was.”

His hand curled over Hermione’s hip and she glanced up at him. There was no force on the earth that would possibly allow the massive grin that covered his face to fall. She was beautiful, brilliant, and as far as he was concerned, the best thing Fate had ever put in his path.

Leonard spoiled their moment with an intrusive, forced cough. “My name might be dragged through the mud, kid, but I’m a talented wizard anyway. You’ll need to repeat the spell and wand movement exactly.”

Hermione nodded confidently and James watched as she followed the way Leonard’s wand moved through the air in the shape of a figure eight. Easy enough.

“You’ll say the words ‘moira ela piso’ at the top of the eight.” Leonard made the wand motion again and mouthed the words where they were supposed to say them. “Understand?”

Just as he suspected, Hermione affirmed with a steady nod. His eyes turned to James, who blew out a long breath and ducked his chin once. Sure; what could possibly go wrong if he didn’t do it right? Piece of cake.

“When you get back, find me. I’d like to tell you the full story on day.” Leonard tipped his hat at them and made to leave their room, but Hermione called out to him.

  
“Mister Twelvetrees?” She left his touch and he felt colder for it as she approached the other man tentatively. “You’re going to save Credence from the Barebones, right?”

The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Credence won’t have to suffer Frankie “Tommy Gun” Barebone after tonight. I give you my word.”

Satisfied, Hermione let him walk through the door without another word. They were left in his wake, silence filling the space between them. Her back was still to him, facing the door as if Leonard would walk back through it at any moment to make sure they left. Her shoulders rose and fell as he approached her cautiously.

“Hermione?” He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her around to find tears freshly falling down her cheeks. “Oh, love. Come here.”

He wrapped her up in his arms and held onto her tight. James knew what he was facing by going back to the seventies, he knew that he’d die before he ever got to see her again, but he couldn’t imagine what she was going back to. He couldn’t reconcile the feisty, clever little witch he’d gotten to know with the skittish, sad girl he’d met that first night.

“Listen, dollface,” James tried humor and it worked. She snorted wetly against his shirt and he pulled her back so that he could stare into her eyes. “When you get back to my son, whatever it is you’re facing, you don’t let it kill you, do you understand?”

She sucked her lips into her mouth and bit down. James ran his thumb over her cheek and pushed her hair back away from her face. He stared at her, trying to memorize her eyes, the way the brown darkened in her sadness and lit under his touch. He’d never forget her, not for a solitary second, no matter what his future held.

“I don’t know what I’m going back to,” she admitted quietly and lifted her chin as if trying to gain some semblance of confidence about her. Merlin, he could fall for her so fast. “I could die. I could be tortured to insanity like—”   
Her voice died in her throat. James pressed his lips to hers, a promise that he understood even if she couldn’t say the words.

“We should get this over with before Leonard finds Frankie.” She tried so hard to sound strong, to pretend as if she wasn’t cracking as deeply as he was. James couldn’t pretend, though. He nodded and stole a greedy, deep breath.

It took everything in him not to beg her to stay here with him. He knew she’d never do it and he’d never put her in such an impossible situation. Besides, his son needed her. He could let go of her for his son.

It fucking hurt, like an earthquake cracking his soul in half. That he only had moments left with her. That he would never see her again. That he would go forward with his life as if he’d never known the softness of her lips or the way her eyes sparkled when he tossed her an easy grin.

“I’m really glad to have met you, James Potter.”

Hermione lifted the time trinket between them. It was time. Her eyes shone with a flush of tears and he swiped at the tracks of their path down her cheeks. 

“You fight, do you hear me?” His hands rested on each side of her head and he forced her to meet his intense gaze. “You go back to the future and you roar like the lion you are, yeah?”

She pressed her lips to his quickly, only the slightest pressure, and then she was all business. 

Her wand made a figure eight movement through the air and the spell they’d learned left her lips. His world spun in a brilliant white light and then she was gone from his vision. The last thing he saw was a lock of her hair sticking into the fresh tears on her face.

Hermione Granger was gone from his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter ended up waaay longer than the others, but I couldn’t split it up. I expect the next one (last one) to be just as long. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and the reviews and kudos! I’m so glad you’re enjoying this ride with me. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the content of this chapter is pulled directly from Deathly Hallows. I do not own any piece of Harry Potter and I do not own of familiar lines. 
> 
> Alllllll of my love to mcal for her continued alpha reading. She’s the best. <3

She came to slowly, like falling into reality through thick, dark clouds. At first, she registered nothing more than the environment; it suffocated her with its black magic and tension. Hermione fought against opening her eyes. James — he was gone, she was back, and everything about their adventure in the twenties was still so fresh. The contrast between then and now startled her more than the sing-song voice that broke the silence in the room.

“And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood.” Hermione’s eyes snapped open. She was still lying on the floor, body aching from the wood biting into her bones. “Greyback, take her if you want her.”

Everything after that happened in such a blur. She was yanked from the floor by under her arm and was held so close to a body that smelled of curses and fear. Hermione’s eyes, groggy and heavy-lidded, tried to focus on the faces around the room. It felt like forever since she’d laid eyes on her friends. Ron and his mop of red hair, Harry and the flyaway raven locks that looked so much like James’ that she had to blink twice before realizing it wasn’t James at all.

“STOP OR SHE DIES.”

Something cold and sharp pressed into her throat. Hermione swallowed and felt the slight slip of the blade into her skin. A heavy breath loosed itself from her nose and she held utterly, utterly still. Her eyes closed. She prayed to be back with James. Please, Merlin, let her wake up and be back with James.

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix’s hot breath whispered against the side of her head. She tried not to whimper, tried not to make even the hint of a sound. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is.”

Something tickled the space just below where the blade sat against her throat. Blood rolled down her throat, drying as it met her collarbone. Hermione took a breath and then the world around her went black.

When she came to again, sunlight burst behind her eyes. So bright, it burned as they fluttered open. The room she was in didn’t belong to Malfoy Manor; it was too light, too homely, too quiet. She pushed herself up, struggling to draw breath with every movement. The hard bed she was on creaked under her weight as she took in the room around her. It was painted in a soft yellow with paintings of blue flowers dotted along the wall. A large window covered most of the wall closest to her. And a door that led to Merlin-knew-where was across from her.

Wherever she was, Hermione felt safe.

Her pulse thumped in her neck and she raised a hand to her throat. A thick bandage was taped to her skin and she swallowed when she realized how close to death she’d come. Her eyes darted to her forearm where angry, burnt-orange colored marks glared back at her and screamed ‘Mudblood’. Her eyes began to water. Scarred, forever branded with who she was in this world, in this time.

Her lament for the reprieve she’d had with James was cut short. A slender blonde draped in blue robes pushed the door open. The pale, blue eyes slid over Hermione’s body and settled on her face. A tight smile greeted her.

“‘Ermione.” Fleur swept into the room like an angel floating on a cloud. She held a potion in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “We ‘ave been waiting for you to wake up. ‘Arry will be so pleased.”

“Harry is here?” Hermione scrambled to stand up, but dizziness overtook her. Fleur’s smiled down at her. “Ron? Is Ron okay? What happened? Where are we? Is Bella--”

“Hush, mon petit oiseau.” Fleur handed her the glass of water and the potion. “Everyone is okay. Take your potion and I will send the boys in to see you soon.”

Hermione took the potion, not bothering to argue. It burned on its way down, but as it settled into her stomach warmth bloomed through her whole body. Peace overtook her and she felt her shoulders sag. Calming draught, then. Hermione allowed her body to relax back against the pillows and rolled her neck to ease the tension out of her muscles.

“Fleur, I have a favor to ask.” Hermione glanced down at her fingers where they fidgeted with the duvet. She didn’t realize that her nails were caked in dirt and blood, not until her eyes traced the dark contrasting lines at their tips. Her stomach rolled.

“What can I do for you?” Fleur tucked the potion vial into her robes and used her wand to vanish the glass of water.

“I need any book or article that anyone can get about the Grindelwald war.” She chewed her lip as she met Fleur’s eyes.  _ Please don’t ask, please don’t ask. _

And, luckily, Fleur simply nodded her head with a tight smirk and left the room.

Days passed and Hermione was slowly able to get up and walk around. She accompanied Harry through Shell Cottage, the home of Bill and Fleur Weasley, and spoke to its other inhabitants who were also healing. It was days later when she was given two books on the rise and fall of Grindelwald and Hermione holed herself in her room while Ron and Harry devised a plan (that she’d tear apart later) to break into Gringotts.

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. One of the books,  _ Gellert Grindelwald: The Path To Destruction _ , detailed exactly what had happened in the days and weeks leading up to Grindelwald’s exposure in Wizarding New York. A young boy named Credence Barebone, later named a relation to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, was prone to obscurial magic — a branch of magic that was so severe that books refused to detail its existence.

Hermione’s eyes roved the page, flickering to and fro as she thumbed through to find exactly what she was looking for. A photo of a familiar man in a feathered fedora moved inside a frame. Magical handcuffs bound his wrists and he smiled like a predator at the camera that followed him out of a nightclub door. Even in the grainy footage that played in front of her, despite the fact that the quality of the photo was terrible, she’d know his face anywhere. Leonard Twelvetrees was being arrested.

Hermione sucked in a breath and let it out steadily as she flipped the page. Her eyes widened and the book fell from her hands.

_ Twelvetrees, a descendant of the infamous family responsible for the International Statute of Secrecy, murdered notorious gangster and foster-father of Credence Barebone. _

_ No _ . No way could it be true.

She flipped another page. There was a moving photo of black, inky magic soaring through the New York skyline. Hermione skimmed the words.

_ Credence Barebone descended through the streets on his search for Gellert Grindelwald _ .

_ The catalyst to a years-long war, the orphaned boy found a father in the brilliant, young Grindelwald. And so the greatest upheaval of magic in history began. _

_ Newt Scamander, Leta Lestrange — _

_ A showdown in New York — _

_ Albus Dumbledore — _

_ Twelvetrees claimed to have information to be used to keep Credence safe — _

_ Twelvetrees locked in Azkaban — _

Hermione’s breathing sped up as she continued over the details of Grindelwald’s reign. There was, thankfully, no mention of her or James, but Hermione understood so much better now. After Frankie’s death, his wife doubled-down on her anti-wizard protests. Grindelwald was able to appeal to the boy’s fear while posing as a MACUSA official. With his claws firmly sunk into Credence, Grindelwald was able to use him as a weapon in his war against Muggles.

Everything she knew about the war was still true. But, she and James’ place within history was not to save Credence as she’d expect. They’d made it worse. Without Frankie there to keep his wife from harming the boy, or by getting rid of Credence altogether from the situation, Leonard was the catalyst to the takeover. She and James made the war worse, not better.

They’d lit the fuse that caused so much tragedy by Grindelwald’s hand.

She was to blame. James was to blame. Their kismet meeting through time was tarnished; had it never happened, Grindelwald may never have risen.

Had they stayed in their respective times, so many people would still be alive.

Perhaps the war with Voldemort wouldn’t be half of what it was. She might never have been tortured. Never have had to survive on mushrooms and leaves and stolen meat pies. Harry might have known his father and she would have had them both in her life.

It was all for nothing. And there was no one on the earth that could console her over all she’d lost in such a short amount of time. Hermione sank into her sadness and locked her door with a powerful ward. She refused to leave her bed and cried into her pillow for hours and hours. Even when her tear ducts were dry, she sobbed dry and raw against the scratchy sheets.

_ Roar like a lion _ , James had said. But she couldn’t. She was spent. This war had taken everything and Leonard Twelvetrees had taken the rest.

After an entire day of drowning in her sorrow, someone knocked on her door. Not the familiar rapt of Harry, nor the gentle rustling of Fleur. “Hermione, love, we really need you.”

“No you don’t.” She sat up slowly and dragged the duvet up to her hips. “I’ll only hold everyone back. I’m not —I’m just a—”

“Don’t.” The door burst open and Remus stood framed in it. His eyes narrowed as he took in her riotous curls, the frizz sticking to the side of her face where her tears had left tracks. She was still dirty from Malfoy Manor and the forest. “You’re not  _ that _ . You have never been  _ that. _ ”

She rolled her eyes and flung the duvet off as she stood from the bed for the first time in twenty four hours. Her legs wobbled as she stormed over to Remus and shoved her arm in his face. “Yeah? What’s this, then?”

“A lie,” Remus said, eyes sweeping from her forearm to her puffy face. “You and I both know that you’re so much more than what some mental witch carved into your arm.”

“I can’t.” She sobs without tears, because she is finally all cried out. “Remus, I can’t do it. I can’t be who they think I am. Too much has happened, Remus, I can’t.”

“Hey, hey.” Remus grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her into his broad chest for a hug. He held onto her tight and smoothed down her hair as he shushed her gently. “I think I know a thing or two about not feeling good enough. My son should never know me; I’m not the father that I should be.”

“Poppycock,” she mumbled against his chest and he chuckled into her hair.

“Hermione, Harry and Ron are going to leave in two days’ time.” Remus encouraged her back and ducked his head so that he could look into her eyes. He wasn’t quite as sad as usual, she noted as her gaze flickered across his face. “They need you and your brilliant mind, love. They can’t do it without you.”

“Yes, they can.” She shrugged out of his hold and turned to the window with her hands tucked under her arms. “I only make things worse. I’ve only  _ ever _ made things worse.”

She longed for James, for someone who knew what happened in the twenties. The way he held her only days ago, to her, the way he could ease a moment with nothing but a dashing smile and a cheeky glint in his eyes. He told her to roar like a lion, but she didn’t feel like a lion anymore. She felt… broken.

“Hermione,” Remus whispered just behind her as his hand rested on her shoulder. He was warm, always so warm toward her, and she wanted so badly to talk to him about his best friend. She pulled her lips between her teeth and bit down in an effort to keep it all in. “I have something that I want to show you — something that I  _ have  _ to show you.”

She steadied herself by closing her eyes and breathing deep. Remus slowly turned her around to face him again.

“Will you come with me?” He pushed her wild frizz away from her face and ran his thumb along her cheekbone.

“Where are we going?” She asked him quietly, even though she’d already decided that if Remus wanted to get her out of this house, she’d follow him in a heartbeat. Her natural curiosity couldn’t be tamed, regardless. “What do you want to show me?”

A familiar, deep smile lifted his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I was told that I couldn’t show you until you looked so beat up that it makes me want to tear the world apart just to make you smile again.”

Hermione lifted a single eyebrow and curled her fingers into her arms. Merlin, did she really look that bedraggled? Probably. She didn’t much care about herself the past few days and despite several quick spells to remove the stale air that hung in her room, she hadn’t tried to appear collected.

“Okay,” she agreed through a heavy breath and gestured for him to lead her out the door. “But if this is a trick to get me to talk to Harry and Ron, I’ll hex you.”

Remus chuckled and held the door open for her. When they reached the landing of the stairs, he grabbed her by the arm and apparated them away.

* * *

Lupin Cottage was a small home set in a large field surrounded by forest. Everything from the outside to the inside felt outdoorsy, like someone had gone to the forest itself and dragged all of the decor inside. It smelled earthy, was dim in the moonlight, and lit only by torchlight in the rooms that were occupied.

James sat on a gingham patterned sofa in front of a small fire grate. A small newborn was tucked into his arms. The newborn’s hair curiously kept shifting from mousy brown curls to a bright turquoise color. He’d never seen anything like it before, but then when Harry was born, he’d been balder than a house elf.

It had been so long since he’d held a child. Hell, since he’d seen one up close, even. James smiled down at the pudgey, little face and cooed at the child in an old familiar tone that he used with his own son. Edward “Teddy” Lupin blinked up at him. In a flash, the boy’s eyes had gone from the brown of his father’s to James’ hazel color.

“I like that,” he whispered as he gently poked the baby on the nose. “Someone should have my eyes.”

His natural grin faded and he straightened his spine as a crack of apparition resounded through the house. If he hadn’t been holding tightly to his best mate’s child, James might have booked it out of the cottage for his nerves alone. Instead, he was rooted to the gaudy sofa with a metamorphmagus infant in his arms, and watched as the shadows moved down the hallway and closer to where he’d been holed up for hours.

“Before you go into that room,” Remus’ voice was filled with nerves as it carried into the room. James straightened further and dragged his lower lip between his teeth. Shite, he was bricking it. “Hermione, take a deep breath and please remember that my newborn son is sleeping somewhere in this house, yeah?”

“Well, why are we even here, Remus? Do you really think it’s an appropriate time for you to bring me to see your son? I like children and all, but—”

She rounded the corner into the room and her voice died in her throat. James took her in, all of her, from head to toe, and the most glorious feeling of relief flooded him from the synapses in his brain to the nerves in his toes. He longed to lay Teddy down and run to her. Instead, he stared in her eyes and watched as her gaze shot around the room and her hand flew to what he could only imagine was her wand.

“Remus,” Hermione whispered out of the corner of her mouth and tilted her shoulders back to view Remus who was hidden by the wall. “There’s someone in your home, wearing James Potter’s face, holding onto your son.”

“Hello, dollface.” He cast her a lopsided grin and stood from the chair with Teddy falling asleep in his arms.

Her mouth fell open as she sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and snapped her eyes to him once more. “James?”

He stood closer to her and sheer elation coursed through him. She was within arm’s reach, if he could pawn the baby off on his father. And he longed to touch her, if for no other reason than to confirm it’s her. It had been twenty years; long, solitary,  _ hard _ years. He still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t made her up.

She was bedraggled, frumpy, and exhausted from war. Her eyes, if possible, were filled with more worry than they had been all those years ago. It pained him, how much had happened to her since their time together. He took stock of her more closely; a gash on her throat that hadn’t been there before, dirt caked into the crevices of her nails, frizzy hair so long and matted that he wondered if she wouldn’t have to shave it off entirely.

But, she was gorgeous still. Those expressive brown eyes filled with wonder as she gazed back at him. James wondered what she saw. An older man, a dead man, a ghost? A lifetime had passed for him and it showed in the slight grey starting to sprout from his roots and the wrinkles that were starting to form at the corners of his eyes.

He was a whole Hermione older than her now. He hadn’t considered that when Remus told him it was time, that all of his waiting was finally coming to an end. And as James stood there holding Teddy tighter than before, his heart slammed against his sternum as his lips pulled down.

“I—” Hermione’s eyes dropped from his and took stock of her person. When she was done, she glanced back to Remus and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Moony, mate, maybe be a pal and take your son?” James extended the baby out to Remus’ arms. When Remus merely stood there and glanced between the two, James canted his head toward the exit with wide eyes. Remus didn’t move. “Fuck’s sake. Can we have a bit of privacy, please?”

“Oh, right.” Remus swaddled Teddy close and nipped out through the door, mumbling about cursing in front of his newborn.

“So—” 

James ran a hand through his hair and blew out a steady breath. He was buggered if he knew the right way to go about this. She looked broken, which is exactly how he found her in the twenties, what he’d been desperate to fix ever since seeing her disappear at his side. He only knew a small part of the horrors she’d witnessed since then and his entire soul was burning to hold her.

“How old are you?” It came out of his mouth before he could stop it. The hand gliding through his hair dropped to his face and he ran it up and down roughly. Fuck.

“Eighteen?” She hoisted a brow over one eye and shoved her fists under her arms. “Same as I was a few days ago. Why?”

“Right, it’s just—” he laughed nervously and scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “I was eighteen when we met and, well, I just wanted to check before I did this—”

It was probably the most daring thing he’d done since eluding Voldemort’s killing curse. Kissing Hermione Granger twenty years after their emotion fling, in the middle of war, when she was raw and confused, wasn’t his smartest moment. But,  _ Merlin _ was it worth whatever reaction she had.

Their lips touched for the first time in decades and when she didn’t shove him away, James stepped further into her space and forced her against the wall at her back. He tangled his fingers in her hair, tilted her face up, and deepened the kiss in a single, fluid movement. The noise that left him was scandalous, but he didn’t care if the entirety of London heard him. The kiss was everything he missed for two decades.

When she finally,  _ finally _ kissed him back, James smirked against her lips and shivered as her hands wound into his hair to pull him even closer. He had her pinned against the wall with his knee between her legs for what felt like hours. He swallowed every soft moan she gave him and his soul sang when her nails dragged lightly along the base of his skull.

He left her mouth and immediately attached himself to her neck. She smelled the same as Moony’s cottage, of the earth and sea, not at all how he remembered. But as his tongue circled the pulse he found just below her ear, James found that she tasted exactly as she had twenty years ago.

“James.” Her hand curled around his bicep and dug into the fabric so hard he was sure he’d have marks the next day. “James—”

Under silent protest, he dragged his tongue from her throat and met her darkened gaze. When his words left him, they were heavy and a touch impatient because she might have waited days, but fuck, it’d been so long and lonely for him. “Yes, love?”

“How?” The words stopped and she drew in a breath before trying again. “I mean, how—?”

He chuckled at her loss for words and grinned because he hadn’t even considered telling her how. Not until he was properly reacquainted with her.

“Does it matter?” He tested the water and at the slightest narrowing of her eyes, James sighed. “Right, of course it does. The night Vol—”

Her hand slapped over his mouth. Her eyes were wide and fearful. “His name is taboo, you can’t say it.”

He licked her hand and she tore it away with a glare.

“Okay. I wore a portkey around my neck.  _ That  _ night, I used it just before I would have been hit with the killing curse.” 

James felt around his chest and pulled the small trinket on a chain to show her. Hermione’s eyes were so round he feared they may actually pop out.

“The time-turner?” She snatched it and held it up to her eyes. “How did you—”

“Leonard mentioned the twin in the Ministry,” he said with a shrug. “So, I went and got it.”

“You  _ stole _ a time-turner from the Ministry?” She looked highly affronted, and he found it incredibly adorable. Of course she was a swot; he should have known. “James, that’s incredibly dangerous! Time travel is highly regulated and volatile and—”

James chucked a laugh and swiped the trinket from her hand. Please, like he was that stupid. He shook his head. “I didn’t use it as a time-turner. Well, I  _ tried _ , mind you. When Remus couldn’t figure it out, I gave up and turned it into a portkey instead.”

“So you haven’t traveled through time? You’re—” Hermione counted under her breath. “Thirty eight?”

He nodded and swallowed around the dry knot in his throat known as middle age.

“And Lily?” She asked it so softly, he barely heard the words.

James licked his lips and stepped out of her space. He turned from her, hands on his hips. Lily. The thought of her killed him every single day. He tried to save her, he did, but almost as if she knew what had to happen, Lily refused. James suspected Dumbledore’s input, but never had the opportunity to ask.

He never had the chance to tell her goodbye, either. It would weigh on him for the rest of his life. The brilliant, red headed witch, his best friend, would haunt him until he drew his last breath.

“She wouldn’t use the portkey.” James finally turned around again to face Hermione. “Sirius and I, we tried everything to bring her back, but Vol— _ he _ used the killing curse. There was nothing we could do.”

She nodded. Of course she knew the story from there. Hermione stepped towards him and planted her palm on his chest. She looked so tired and all he wanted to do was hold her until whatever horrible things kept her awake vanished.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and then she cut into her lip with her teeth. “You never searched me out.”

He could tell she was nervous about asking and so he eased her worries with a kind smile. “Try to find an underage girl and tell her I’ve fancied her for over a decade?”

Hermione snorted and it coaxed a true grin from him. “What did you do for twenty years, then?”

“Kept Remus company.” James twisted a frizzy lock around a finger and let his gaze linger on the way it sprung back into place. “Had to be stunned a lot. My son attracts danger like a kelpie attracts grindylows. This year was the worst. Remus had to remind me that he had you. And that ginger boy who kept looking at you like a lost puppy.”

“You’ve watched us all these years?” She pulled a face before laughing. “And you’re jealous of Ron?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands and very little patience for prats who aren’t good enough for you.” 

James stepped forward and she stepped back. His eyes dipped to her lips again; he’d waited so long to kiss them and she was reaching for reasons they shouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. Not after everything. When her back hit the wall, she gasped a quiet little noise and he brought a hand to her throat. His fingers glided up the long column of her neck and then swept into her hair.

“If you have any misgivings about this, I beg you to please tell me now.” He didn’t care that his voice was hoarse and desperate. If she told him to let her go, he would, but it just might fucking kill him.

Hermione surprised him by wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling his lips down to hers in a crushing kiss. Their tongues met and he let out a groan, because every kiss he’d ever shared with the witch had been searching and cautious. This one was passionate and fueled by need.

His palms flattened against the wall on either side of her head and James took as much of her as she was willing to give. Her hands explored his shoulders and his chest and when her fingers began plucking the buttons from his shirt, he was instantly hard for her.

“Are you certain? You’re only eighteen, and —  _ Merlin _ , where did you learn to do that with your tongue?” James hissed when she nipped at the sensitive flesh of his throat.

“James.” The way his name rolled off her tongue and vibrated through him made his brain giddy with pure want of her. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and attached her lips to his chest, biting light marks wherever her mouth could reach.

“Hermione, I want to be very clear that — Godric’s  _ pants _ , love, that feels so good.”

“James?” She peered up at him through impossibly long lashes, a coy smile on her face. He was positively done for as her fingers unsnapped the button on his trousers.

“Yes?” Be cool, be cool,  _ be cool, Potter. _ He held his breath and felt dizzy.

She shucked her top off, unhooked her bra, and kicked off her jeans in a flurry of unsteady movements. James tried desperately not to watch as she shimmied out of her knickers and stood between him and the wall entirely starkers. He gulped and sucked in as much air as his lungs would allow.

Her hand rested on the waist of his bottoms. He lost a sharp breath and twitched in anticipation.

“Shut up.”

With her palms flat against his chest, she pushed him backward until the backs of his knees hit the shabby old, gingham sofa. His hands circled her hips as he dropped down onto it and pulled her onto his lap. The only thing separating them was his pants, but it didn’t stop Hermione from grinding down and eliciting a surprised groan from him.

“But, wait, wait—” James clutched her hips and held her steady as her mouth dipped toward his lips. She groaned and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. He laughed because he couldn’t stop himself and coaxed her to look at him. “Sorry, I have to know how you’re so good at this.”

She lifted one single, pointed brow at him and said nothing.

“Right.” James opened and closed his mouth, then made a face that he hoped was a smile but wasn’t quite sure he nailed it. “So, not a virgin then.”

Her eyebrow spoke volumes, as did the way her lips pursed.

“It’s just that, under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of an eighteen year old girl.” Gods, if he just inched his hips up just a little bit —  _ c’mon, Prongs, get your shite together. _ She stared at him expectantly. He huffed a nervous laugh. “It’s been a very long time for me. I’m not a virgin either.”

If her eyebrows went any higher, she’d lose them into her hair. If he could only get her to smile or laugh or to keep doing that thing with her tongue —

“Right. Obvious.” James ran a hand through his hair just for something to do while his mouth ran away with itself. “It’s okay that you’re not a virgin, of course. You didn’t know I created a portkey and that I waited for you for twenty years. I wouldn’t expect you to have saved yourself — what?”

Her shoulders rose and fell under the weight of her giggles. Hermione’s velvety laugh immediately soothed the incessant voice in his head that forced him to keep talking. She snorted and shook and when her hips jerked against him, they both went utterly still.

A beat passed. She purposefully rolled her hips again. A hiss escaped his lungs. His hands clenched her waist. Their mouths met. Tongues explored one another.

And finally, as if in painful slow motion, he was sheathed inside of her. James closed his eyes and tried to slow his heart rate, but it was no use.

They moved against and with each other for so long that he lost track of how many times he whispered her name. The world around them vanished and all he could see or hear was Hermione as she moaned and moved and fell over the edge of her orgasm with his name on her lips.

It took them forever to move. James wasn’t in a rush. He’d live here, buried in her, if she’d let him.

When she extricated herself from his lap, James pulled her naked body against his on the sofa and ran his fingers through her tangled, messy hair. The heat radiating between the two of them clung to him in the most delightful way. He hadn’t felt so warm in years. James pressed his lips to the top of her head and smiled.

Whatever sacrifices had to be made to end up here, he’d pay them again. He didn’t know what her plans were after the war was over, but James did know that he intended to request that she stay with him. Help him bridge the gap with Harry. Be there with him to truly begin structuring a new life. No matter how long this sodding war took, he’d wait for her just as he had for twenty years.

“I have to leave.” When the sun began to break through the windows, Hermione pushed herself away from his side and stretched her muscles as she yawned. “Promise me that you’ll be here when it’s over.”

“I’d rather go with you,” he admitted as he pushed himself to the edge of the sofa. His arms rested on his thighs as he watched her run around the room and grab her clothes. “I can watch out for you — and for Harry.”

“No.” Hermione placed her hand on his chest as he stood and crowded her space. “Harry can’t have you showing up out of nowhere right now. He needs to focus and he’ll do something stupid if he thinks it means — James, you son has a ‘saving people thing’, alright? He doesn’t need any more incentive to try and risk his life.”

“So I’ll just stay here and, what? Babysit the little shapeshifter while everyone I love runs off to war?” James placed his hand over hers on his heart and squeezed. “I can’t lose anyone else, Hermione. I can’t.”

Her lips twitched and she reached up on her tip-toes to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “My job is to look after Harry. Your job is to look after Remus. I know that he and Tonks are going to want to meet us at the end of this, but you can’t let them, James. I’m counting on you to keep them safe now, yeah?”

It was the first time he realized that Hermione, this beautiful girl that had strolled into his life so many years ago and left like a wreckage of adoration behind her, had somehow managed to love the family he chose, too. The size of her heart would never cease to amaze him. James ducked his head down and captured her lips in a full, heated kiss. It lasted only a moment, but the dazed look in her eyes was entirely worth it.

“Alright, you win,” he muttered to her, a playful smirk lifting his lips. “I’ll keep Moony, Mrs. Moony, and Mini Moony safe. And you — you come back to me, do you understand?”

She nodded her head and tossed him a smile. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for an epilogue because James Potter is a sassy muse.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. The end. For a little prompt that was supposed to be a Drabble, this little idea sure did take my mind to bigger places.
> 
> LadyKenz’s love of Jamione was such encouragement to continue on, and if it weren’t for mcal’s alpha skills, this story wouldn’t be the same. You ladies are wonderful and I adore you to pieces! <3

Hermione stood in a room surrounded by scotch and smelly cigars that were charmed to smoke themselves. Her hair was cropped short, with ringlets falling just below her chin. She wore a smart little black number that had beads inlaid into the fabric. The room was crowded with people — each one of them in fancy dress.

“Oi, sweet cheeks!”

Hermione turned on her heel and glared at one James Potter and the cheeky grin that had been permanently ingrained on his face as of late. He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips, taking care to kiss the knuckles of each hand before letting them fall back down to her sides.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that foul pet name?” She sighed because all he did was chuckle and tuck his chin with a soft, unconvincing ‘yes, love’. “It’s bad enough that Teddy calls me ‘dollface’ whenever we visit.”

James barked a laugh and wrapped his arm around her waist. She allowed him to guide her through the room and into the corner crowd where all of her friends gathered around with drinks and merry chatter with one another. Hermione rested her hip against James, a small smile on her face that had been there for so long, she wondered if it was permanently a part of her now. She watched all of her friends in a rare gathering together and thanked Merlin for the light, happy feeling that settled in her chest.

“Have you talked to Harry tonight?” She tipped her chin over her shoulder and watched James’ eyes as they flickered over the crowd to find his son.

“No,” James whispered against her ear. “Been looking for the little bugger all night, though. He’s good at dodging owls and floo calls.”

Her shoulders shook with the force of her laughter. “You do know that he spends ninety percent of his time at the auror academy, right? The other ten percent is in Ginny’s bedroom and—”

“No, no, no.” James covered her lips lightly with his hand and she laughed through his fingers. “There’s no need to remind me at all what those two monkeys get up to. He’s still a child to me.”

“Harry’s the same age as I am!” James grumbled at the reminder and Hermione stuck her tongue out, licking his fingers. He jerked his hand away and when she spun around, he pursed his lips and clearly tried not to smile at her. “They’re a married couple, James. Of course they’re going to—”

“Oi!” His fingers curled into her sides and she twitched out of his grip as he began to tickle her. “There’ll be none of that. That particular activity is for adults and not twenty year old gits who don’t bother to floo their father-returned-from-the-dead when asked.”

“Why do you need to speak with him so badly, then?” Hermione used her thumb to smooth the furrowed brow over his eyes and bit down on her lip because he had  _ that _ look in his eyes again. The man never tired.

He shook his head, coiffed hair falling into his eyes. It reminded her of the time they’d spent in the twenties. Hermione’s gaze flitted around the room. The band, the dance floor, everyone dressed in beaded apparel or fancy suits and hats. It was just like the twenties and she loved it. The idea of a night like this occurred to her after explaining to Ron and Harry about the time travel incident; Hermione realized that she missed the Roaring Twenties once the threat of war was gone. So, James humored her and planned the entire thing.

“I’m sure he’ll be here, love. As I said, he and Ginny are probably—”

“Must you persist, witch? Remus, old chap!” James swept her across the room again when he spotted Remus enter the room with Tonks on his arm. James curled himself in an obnoxious bow. “Mister Moony, mate, welcome to the Twenties.”

“What’ve you done to Hermione?” Remus whispered as he leaned over James’ shoulder with a tight smile in Hermione’s direction.

“Why do you assume that I’ve done something to this saucy little witch and not the other way around?” James narrowed his eyes playfully and lifted a lopsided grin onto his face. “Don’t answer that. Have you seen Harry?”

“I’m trying to tell him that Harry and Ginny are likely running late because it’s his first night at home from auror academy and they obviously want to spend some time catching up.” Hermione pointedly stared into James’ eyes and waggled her eyebrows. He glared at her in response. Remus laughed.

“And by ‘spend some time’ you mean—”

James covered his ears like a child. “We all know what she bloody meant, Moony.”

Hermione and Remus shared a smirk in solidarity. Hermione touched her hand to James’ shoulder and encouraged him to open his eyes. “We could always ask Ginny to clarify her intentions with your son, if you like.”

She nodded her chin in the direction of the door where Harry and Ginny strolled into the party. Harry’s hair was all over his head, sticking up in every direction, and Ginny clung to his arm with a laugh falling off her lips. There was no question how they spent their reunion time. Hermione grinned at James, who glowered and stomped over to his son with heavy footsteps.

“You’re terrible,” Remus whispered in her ear as she watched James retreat. His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You do know why he planned this little get together tonight, yeah?”

Her teeth cut into the red lipstick painted on her lower lip. “I have my theories.”

Remus snorted. “Of course you do. Try not to give him too hard a time, love.”

As he walked off and found his wife, who wore her hair in a short, blonde do for the evening, Hermione called out to him. “I make no promises! I still owe him revenge for the moving in thing!”

* * *

  
  


The witch on Harry’s arm nudged him on the side and tilted her chin in James’ direction. He forced a smile on his face, trying to sweep the thoughts of what they’d been doing moments before out of his mind. There was no need for James to have any other belief than that Harry and Ginny’s future children would be delivered by owl.

“Dad, this is — something.” Harry greeted James with a firm hug and James held a little longer than needed. He always did these days; the trauma of staying far away from Harry for twenty years was still fresh some days. He’d never take his son for granted, not ever.

When they parted, James gestured around the room with a genuine smile on his face. “It’s brilliant. Andromeda really pulled through with the decorations.”

An easy silence slid between them as James’ eyes found Hermione. She stood near a floaty blonde he’d come to know as Luna Lovegood, a peculiar girl who James was fairly certain was part fae somewhere down the line of her genetics. Sirius would have liked her, and would have enjoyed riling her up. Hermione’s eyes found him and she gave him a small wave of her fingers, which he returned with a lopsided smile.

“It’s so weird.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets as James turned around. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could find some nice, homely girl your own age and—”

He stopped short as Ginny’s fingers pinched his side. James knew he liked this Weasley girl. She was precisely what a cheeky Potter boy needed to keep his head on straight. Ginny beamed at him as she told Harry off quietly.

“I’m sure,” James assured him. He felt his certainty down to his very soul.

Hermione was his second chance.

“Then I suppose you’ll need this, then.” Harry pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket and offered it to James. As James reached for it, Harry jerked it away. “But, here’s the thing.”

James ran a hand through his hair and smiled what he believed to be his most charming smile. The one that always got him out of trouble with Slughorn back in his youth. Harry ignored it completely. The square.

“Hermione is — well, she’s the best person I know,” Harry told him earnestly. James knew it was serious when even the girl on his arm didn’t argue. “Just promise me that you’re sure about this and that you won’t have second thoughts.”

“Harry.” James stepped into his son’s space and wrapped his hand around the ring box. Their gazes held each other. “Hermione is the reason I’m alive, son. There will never be any second thoughts. I love her.”

“Right.” Harry relinquished the box and lifted his lips awkwardly. “Consider it fair warning then. Don’t hurt her.”

“Blimey,” James laughed as he shoved the box into his pocket. “I’ve already had the talk from Moony, Ginny’s brother, her mother, and that strange Luna girl. Now my own son.”

He liked the way that Harry’s cheeks turned pink. Lily’s used to do the same when she was embarrassed. He’d never tire of the reminders of her.

“Care to take a stroll to the future Mrs. Potter?” 

James shrugged his shoulder in Hermione’s direction and led the happy couple to his smiling witch. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. There wasn’t a more stunning witch in the entire room than the one on his arm.

“Look who I found.” James beamed as he watched her face light up.

“Harry!” Hermione squeezed him around the neck and turned to do the same to Ginny. “I’m so glad you both could make it. You must try the bathtub gin!”

“Don’t!” James interjected loudly and then chuckled at Harry’s raised brows. “It’s foul. I don’t know why Hermione requested it.”

“It’s not bad once you get used to it,” Hermione argued and shoved a small glass of it into Harry’s hand. “It’s what Muggles drank during the prohibition. We could all stand to learn that we couldn’t always have firewhisky on tap.”

Harry took a sip from the glass and immediately spat the liquid out. “Eurgh, Hermione, my dad’s right. This is disgusting. Why would you do that to me?”

“I wanted to show you that it wasn’t all The Charleston and gangsters in the twenties.” Her eyes sparkled and her lips twisted with a grin. “Despite what you and Ron might have thought when your father and I told you about our trip to the past.”

“Okay, that was Ron and not me,” Harry pointed out and then turned to James with a helpless sort of frown on his face. “Right, it was me a little bit, but I was distraught over —  _ this _ .”

Hermione’s shoulders dropped and she tucked herself further into James’ side. James could sense the dread she felt over her best mate not understanding their relationship, so he held her tight and placed a kiss to the top of her head. Solidarity, a marauder’s number one priority.

“I don’t think Harry minds anymore, love,” James whispered against her silky hair. “As a matter of fact, I recently obtained his permission—”

She straightened her spine and James stepped away from her so that he could kneel down on the ground at her feet. Her hand flew to her mouth, fingers held loosely over her lips as she stared down at him. He couldn’t help but beam up at her as he pulled the small, velvet box from his pocket and presented it to her.

Hermione’s face turned to Harry as her fingers grazed the box. James followed her line of sight and was relieved to find his son with a massive smile on his face, an encouraging nod toward the box. James ducked his head, a quick and silent thank you, before Hermione faced him again.

“I-” The word fumbled from her parted lips. Her eyes dipped to the box and back to his eyes.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet, love,” James teased, even as he opened the hinged lid of the box to reveal a simple, golden ring with a small, princess cut diamond inlaid into it. “For all you know, I simply need your opinion on whether or not this would make a good gift for a friend.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. “What friend? And why are you on your knees then?”

“A friend you don’t know, obviously. And perhaps I’m just here to beg your forgiveness for something.” He loved it when she was on the verge of strangling him. She was so fiery all the time; it really made their sex life fun. James took her hand in his. “Alright, I’m sorry, love. I’ll get on with it, shall I?”

“James—” She curled her fingers against his palm. Her eyes misted over and she chewed on her bottom lip. 

His heart seized — it was the first time in planning to ask her that he was worried she might say no. He stole a deep breath and brought her hand to his lips. “I waited twenty years for you, Hermione Granger. If I must, I will wait another twenty.”

She dropped to her knees on the hard tile floor and winced. Her hands clamped around his face like a vice and Hermione pressed her lips to his. “Yes!”

His face lit up like a fireworks display. “I haven’t even asked you yet, witch.”

“Well, hurry up, Potter.” She tried to steal the box from his hand, but he swiped it back before she could.

With a rumble of laughter in his chest and a deep sense of pride that this witch was going to be his wife, James took her hand back in his. “Marry me?”

James slid the ring onto her finger as she gasped out, “Yes.”

Their lips met again and there was excitement buzzing through the crowd that formed around them. Someone whistled. Several hands clapped him on the back. 

But James only had attention on his witch. “How was that?”

She thumbed the ring on her finger with a smile. “It’s perfect, James.”

There was no fluff, no long winded explanation of his feelings, no declarations. He simply wanted to join their lives together, officially,  _ finally _ . The smile that split her lips was a balm to his thundering heart and he couldn’t help but mimic it right back to her. He loved her more than he thought possible so long ago in a small dive bar inhabited by gangsters and flappers.

He’d love her through a hundred decades, if she’d let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! For the comments and the kudos and the love — I appreciate every single one of you. <3 
> 
> Til next time!


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